


Under Mountain, Upon the Hill

by Siriusfanatic



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:09:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriusfanatic/pseuds/Siriusfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year and more has gone by since Bilbo left Erebor to return to his home in the Shire, leaving behind the King who loved him and all the friends he had grown to cherish. With new responsibilities thrust upon him, Bilbo tries to put his adventures behind him and focus on caring for young Frodo. Then one stormy spring evening, Bofur, Kili, and Nori turn up unexpectedly on his doorstep with a letter from Thorin, who means to make good on his last promise to the Hobbit--to join him in the Shire again.</p>
<p>         As Bilbo's previously quiet world spirals once more into a flurry of excitement and madness, something foul stirs within the peaceful green woods of Hobbiton, and a plot begins to form of the most unsavory kind.</p>
<p>      In Erebor, Fili is left to rule in his Uncle's absence, and to continue trade and treaties with Laketown, and Bard the Bowman, whom he has become romantically involved with. Fili struggles with his role as future king, and finds himself once again in harms way, when traitors appear within the halls of Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Knock Upon The Door

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been over a year since I wrote about Hobbits and Dwarves, and it would seem it's that time of year again! This fic is the sequel to my last (and still unfinished fic "Frost on Tarnished Silver".) Because it will still take me time finish that fic and do some revisions, I have decided not to waste what precious time the lull of January allows me on old things when I've been bubbling with so many new ideas. Plus, I will fill you in on the ending from the previous fic in this one.
> 
> There are basically 2 subplots to this story; the primary plot centering about Bilbo and Thorin of course, while the other two revolve around Fili and Kili and their separate relationships and struggles.

A rumbling crash woke Bilbo from a sound slumber and made him clutch at his sheets and pillows as he looked up bleary eyed and startled. The window of his bedroom was streaked with heavy rain drops that quivered and swam, and bright flashes of lightning illuminated the darken room. Another boom of thunder rippled through the quiet of Bag End and seemed to shake some dust from the eves. Something beside him yelped and quivered and he turned his head, tussled curls falling in his eyes as he searched the blankets for the little quivering mass.

  
“Frodo, lad, come here,” he cooed, lifting the quilt and finding the little Hobbit balled up beside him, arms wrapped around himself and tear stains on his cheeks. Bilbo gathered him up in his arms and propped them both against the pillows and the headboard, before reaching to his bedside table and lighting the oil lamp to allow them some gentle light. “It’s only the first spring thunderstorm, child, nothing to be frightened of.” He tried to assure him. But Frodo did not look comforted by the thought, and it took Bilbo a moment to remember why. Flash flooding and a rainstorm similar to this one had been the very thing that had killed the boy’s parents this past summer, and the memory was still fresh and painful.

  
His uncle hugged him hard and close, brushing down the sweat matted black curls on the boy’s head and fixing his nightshirt as he wrapped him up in the quilt. “Lie down now, you can stay with me tonight. But tomorrow I’ll expect you back in your own bed, understand?”

  
Frodo nodded tiredly but barely moved before laying his head on Bilbo’s shoulders and closing his eyes, “Will you tell me a story, uncle?”

  
Bilbo repressed a tired sigh; he really just wanted to go back to sleep. “Very well, how about the one about the trolls?”

  
“No…I want to hear about the Mountain again. The Lonely Mountain, and Thorin and the Dragon. Will you tell me?”

  
Bilbo hesitated and looked back out at the rain, “That is a very long tale for such a late night. How about I tell it to you tomorrow, over tea?”

“Please…”

Bilbo laid his head on the boy’s and tried to gather himself. “Once upon a time, there lived a mighty Dwarf King. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain. His kingdom of Erebor was grand and strong, made in the roots of the Lonely Mountain, overlooking Long Lake and the cities of Dale and Laketown. Thorin was a good King, who had lived long years in exile, after the treacherous dragon Smaug had invaded and taken the King’s gold for himself. These long, hard years had made the King sad…and lonely.”

“But then you came along, didn’t you uncle? You became his friend.”

“His very good friend, yes.”

  
Frodo, eyes still closed, smiled and continued on his own; “ ‘And Mighty Thorin smote the evil dragon Smaug, and saved Erebor and Laketown and his very good friend Bilbo Baggins and asked him to live with him forever in his Mountain castle.’”

  
“I think you are forgetting a few things there,” Bilbo said, but Frodo wasn’t listening. Here the boy gave a curious pause and looked up at Bilbo again. “Why didn’t you stay?”  
“It is only a story, Frodo. And stories have very simple endings. Happy ones, for good little hobbits.” He kissed Frodo’s forehead and bade him go to sleep again. “Life, however…is not always so simple, or so happy.”

  
Frodo grew quiet and nuzzled a little further against him, fighting the urge to suck his thumb, for he was too old for such things now. Bilbo didn’t say anything again for a long time, but he didn’t put the light out either. He laid there against the headboard and watched the storm outside for a long time, and wondered about that very King and that mountain far away.

  
“I will come for you, when Spring has come and the world is new again; like I did before on that fateful night.”

  
“And if your kingdom should still need you? What then? Can you really just leave them now, after all they’ve been through?”

  
“It would not be forever; Fili will lead them in my absence.”

  
“I’m sure he’s thrilled about that.” Bilbo tried to laugh, but there was just no mirth left in him. He was tired, and world-weary, in a way that no Hobbit had ever really known before. As happy and end as things seemed, Bilbo found he could not fully appericiate it, for something had taken root in his heart; fear.

Thorin put his arms around the Hobbit and drew him near. He still had not fully healed from all his wounds, and Gandalf speculated that he might never fully recover. Thorin’s days of great battles would be over; the days of diplomacy must begin.

“Are you sure you won’t stay? Travel when the roads are better; safer for you.”

“I will be safe enough now in Gandalf’s company. And please do not ask me…you know this is difficult for me.” Bilbo had been unable to meet Thorin’s dark eyes and see the sadness that had grown in them. It was a different kind of melancholy that resided there now; a bittersweet sort of sorrow that came with putting his lover’s happiness above all other things.

“I will write. Everyday. I promise.” Bilbo amended, as if this somehow would ease the pain of his leaving. Thorin only held him a little tighter and kissed his ear. “You’d better finish packing then. I will meet you at the gate.” He had turned then and limped away, and Bilbo called after him; “Don’t hate me for this. Please. Try to understand why I have to do this.”

“There is no bone in my body that could hate you, Bilbo Baggins. I wish you only the best; until we meet again.”

Bilbo hadn’t written. Not one single letter. He had started a million times, began a million drafts; all of which had ended up crumbled into balls or thrown into the fire. And no word had ever come from Erebor since that night either.

That summer he had almost made up his mind to go back; he had even been looking for a suitable caretaker for Bag End, (again, the Sackville Baggins’s had made their voices loudest of all in this matter) when the tragedy had occurred that left him with a very different set of plans. Midsummer’s Eve came and went, Autumn passed into a long, cold winter that froze the Shire to its bones; killed livestock and brought sickness on it’s cold icy winds. And Bilbo had endured it all as best he could manage, struggling to take care of the little life that had been entrusted to him. And all without a word from Thorin Oakenshield.

He had begun to lie to himself; in the stories that he told Frodo by the fire to pass the time; and convince himself that it had all been a fantastic dream, and that nothing truly bad had happened, or would ever happen, because it was just a story. But stories alone do not leave you weeping in the dark, frightened to be alone, with memories of fire and knives in the dark, and yellow eyes of goblins and the horrifying howls of Wargs on the open road. Stories alone do not fill you with dread about things that creep and crawl on too many legs, or of what might be watching you just beyond the edge of the wood. And stories alone cannot leave you empty and barren, as if you have lost someone forever. Someone whom you had given your whole heart to.

He looked down at Frodo again and saw to his satisfaction that the boy was sleeping again. He noticed a dampness on his own cheeks and brushed them away tiredly; he wondered if he would ever run out of tears to shed. A short while later he drifted into an unhappy dream, of stumbling alone in the dark calling Thorin’s name.

_Knock Knock Knock_

Bilbo woke again to what he thought was more thunder, or perhaps a fallen branch scratching at one of the eves. He sat up carefully, blinking tiredly into the dark, his eyes stinging with weariness. Frodo was undisturbed beside him, and Bilbo tucked the quilt beneath his chin and stumbled from his bed, grabbing his housecoat and slippers.

_Knock Knock Knock!_

The pounding sound came more urgently now, and Bilbo recognized it for what it was and hurried along the corridors towards the front door, a candle in one hand and a poker in the other (just in case.) He reached the front door just as the rapping began again and he turned the handle and peered through the crack.

“Who is it at this hour?!” he all but snarled through the gap. A surprisingly familiar face filled the void, and Bilbo might have thought he was still dreaming, were it not for the sudden gale of wind that blew the door back and sent him stumbling over the rug. The figure on the other side of the door came tumbling in as well, followed by two others, all shivering and sopping wet. “Easy there, Bilbo!”

The Hobbit stared, red-eyed and blinking as Bofur, Nori, and Kili stood before him, the red-head and the young heir struggling to close the great green door before any more rain and debris could blow in, while Bofur attempted to pick up the poor Hobbit from the floor. “Thank goodness you’re home! I thought we would drown out there!” he chuckled beneath the heavy, damp expanse of his long mustache, which quivered with raindrops. “Are ye alright lad, ye look as white as a ghost!”

Bilbo gapped and sputtered for a moment, drinking in the sight of them, before grabbing Bofur by both shoulders and yanking him over on top of him, embracing him fiercely. The dwarf laughed and clapped him on the back heartily. “This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been thrilled to have mud tracked on my carpet!” the Hobbit laughed.  
Kili and Nori smiled too and did their best to shrug out of their wet things and hang them on the hooks by the door. One by one Bilbo greeted them with warmth, confusion and elation, looking them over as though he didn’t fully recognize them. “What are you doing here? In the middle of the night no less?” he asked, drawing them further in towards the fireplace, which was burning low and quiet. The Hobbit stirred up the coals, sparking embers that flew in the air and tossed several fresh logs on the hearth, and soon they were bright and crackling.

“We thought you would know,” Kili admitted, warming his backside by the fire as he glanced over at his friend. “Did you not receive any of the King’s letters?”  
Bilbo blinked; “No, if my surprise wasn’t already telling of that.”

“That’s worrisome,” Nori replied, having sat himself down on a stool with his pocket knife, trying to remove the crusted mud from the treads of his boots. Bilbo ignored it, if only because he was still in a state of shock. Bofur shrugged it off, “Well nothing to be done about it now, eh? We’re here, that’s all that matters. As it so happens, I have a message for you here.” He reached beneath the length of his scarf into the many pockets of his great leather coat and brought out a bit of neatly folded parchment, sealed by the King himself. “Here lad, I’m sure this will explain a great deal.”  
Bilbo took it with trembling fingers and lit another lamp to help his eyes. He lingered over the deep red seal for a moment, hardly able to bring himself to break it. He licked his lips and looked nervously back up at them. “Just tell me, now, what news? Is it good or bad?”

“’Good or bad’?” Kili repeated with a snort, and Bilbo was surprised to see that some of the lightness and mirth had gone out of the young Dwarf. “Have you forgotten my uncle so quickly?”

Bofur shushed him, and Bilbo stiffened. “I have never forgotten; not for a single second of a single day. How dare you,”

“Alright, alright that’s enough, Kili.” Bofur cut in, giving the younger dwarf’s arm a little shove and ushering him into a chair. “We are all tired and weary, it has been a long journey. Let’s not let our tempers get the best of us, eh?”  
Bilbo nodded and turned his attentions back to the parchment. Carefully he broke the seal and unfolded it, his eyes drinking in the dark inked words.

_My dearest Bilbo,_   
_Long months have passed since our last meeting and I find I am heart sick with it. Though I have sent many messengers with tidings to you in the Shire, I fear none have returned, nor have I had any word in kind from you. My great fear is that some ill seeks to keep us from one another, but I truly hope to find otherwise._   
_I have sent those I most trust with this letter to you, in hopes of finally reaching you. I pray that they reach you safely._   
_Spring is coming and as I once promised, I will come for you in two-weeks’ time. The roads remain difficult, but Gandalf has assured our passage will be safe, and the Wood Elves of Mirkwood have provided some assistance there as well._   
_My heart swells at the prospect of seeing you again, my dearest Bilbo. I hope that I find you well. When I arrive, I have a proposal to make, which we will discuss at length then. It is my fondest wish that you will agree._

_My love and loyalty, always;_   
_Thorin_

Bilbo felt as if he had been reading the letter for ages, for his eyes scrolled the words over and over again, never wanting them to end, gleaning every little hint of Thorin’s voice from them. He drank them in until he was drunk and his head light. A touch of Bofur’s hand upon his arm brought him back to reality.

“Does that clear it all up then?”

Bilbo could not speak for a time, but just smiled and nodded and dropped into his old arm chair, just staring at the parchment. Kili looked on, bored and tired and his head started to droop upon his shoulder as the warmth of the fire and Bilbo’s home started to seep into him. Suddenly, there was a little tug on his leg and he sat up with a start, looking down. “Hullo, what’s this?”

A very small Hobbit, a boy of maybe six, was looking up at him with wide blue eyes beneath a head of dark curls. His mouth was open in an awed gape, and he seemed almost afraid to move, staring up at Kili.

“Oy! It’s a wee babe!” Bofur gasped, almost delighted at the sight.

“Are you real?” Frodo asked Kili in an excited whisper. Kili laughed out loud at this, a sound which seemed to both startle and hearten his companions at once, and leaned a bit closer to the young Hobbit. “As real as the nose on your face, little one. Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Frodo Baggins.”

Kili looked to Bilbo, and his sharp eyes were somewhat accusing. “So this is why you haven’t answered Thorin’s letters. Well, where is she?”

“Where is who?” Bilbo retorted, feeling both defensive and annoyed. “That is my nephew,” he explained and beckoned the boy over to him “although it is certainly none of your business.”

“And how is that?” Kili snapped and Nori stomped his foot and looked at him sternly; “That’s enough out of you, young prince. Go cool off, I’ll not have you upsetting our host in front of the child. Go on, get!”

Kili slunk off through the hall and disappeared around the corner, not caring where he tracked mud. Bilbo looked to Nori and Bofur for answers. “Forgive the lad, it’s not you he’s cross with.” Nori apologized.

“His uncle then?”

“No, not even him. Kili’s had a hard time of things these long months, without Prince Legolas around.”

“Aye, a broken heart is never easily mended. He’s been hell to live with, even Thorin’s at his wits end about it. He thought sending him here might lighten his spirits, but I’m afraid it’s only soured him further.”

“But I thought they had come to some agreement?”

“Does he not like me?” Frodo whimpered suddenly from Bilbo’s side, the older Hobbit bent down and hugged him. Bofur bent beside him and patted the little one’s head,

“There, there, wee one. It’s none of your doing. He’s just a bit cranky, see, as he’s gone without his supper.”

“Oh my, forgive me, you all must be starving! I’ll bring up some chips and biscuits from the pantry, shall I and some hot tea--?”

“Never you mind that, I know my way around,” Nori called, already half way to the kitchen, and Bilbo had to stop himself from going after him out of habit.

“I’m Bofur, pleased to make your acquaintance, little master Frodo.” Bofur said, taking off his cap and bowing his head before the boy. Frodo chuckled at him and stuck his hand out for Bofur to shake and the Dwarf took it in kind.

“Quite a grip you have!” he laughed.  
Bilbo patted Frodo’s shoulder, “Now that’s quite enough excitement for one night. Go on back to your bed, while I get our guests settled in.”

“But Uncle Bilbo!”

“Go, or they’ll be no honey cake for breakfast, and no stories either!”

Frodo yelped again and scurried off to obey, glancing back curiously around corners after the Dwarf’s until Bilbo’s stern gaze sent him scrambling again. When they heard the door shut behind him, Bilbo exhaled loudly and looked to Bofur again, “As you can see, I’ve been rather busy.”

“I guess so.” Bofur nodded. “Parents on holiday are they?”

“I’m afraid not,” Bilbo shook his head sadly. “They died this past summer; drowned in the creak when it flooded.”

“Oh poor lad.” Bofur looked truly remorseful at the idea. “So he’s in your charge then?”

“Yes. Apparently I’m the only one who would take him. Our cousins were rather put out at the idea of another mouth to feed, not that they couldn’t afford it. They’re kicking themselves over it now, though, as that means Frodo is my next of kin, and they will get nothing.”

Bilbo remembered himself then and they sat down together in the parlor and enjoyed the crackling of the fire in silence for a moment, listening to Nori putting together a spread in the kitchen. “Have you been well then?”

“As well as I can manage,” Bilbo answered. The dark haired dwarf removed his hat and wrung some more of the water out of his long damp braids. “Has there been trouble? Something that’s kept word from getting to you? Have you seen any strange folk about?”

“No. Well, not until you three showed up on my doorstep.”

Outside the thunder rumbled softly and the rain began only a faint patter on the roof and windows. The storm was passing on. “He’s missed you, you know.” The dwarf said softly, interrupting the uncomfortable silence that passed between them. “Oh he tries not to let on. Matters of court keep him busy, and all these treaties with the men of Laketown and with our other kin of the Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills…but its killing him not to have you there.”

“What use would I be in a court of Kings? I’m a simple Hobbit. I know nothing of these affairs.”

“Bilbo Baggins!”

Bofur’s sudden exclamation caught him by surprise and made him stare at him. “What’s become of you? Have you forgotten what you once meant to each other? You braved Goblins, Orcs, Wargs and Dragon and a war for him once! Now you sit here in your little hole and pretend to be nothing to us!? Are Hobbits so fickle after all?”

Bilbo crumpled the letter in his hand angrily, then immediately released it and smoothed it nervously. His cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed a bright angry red, and Bofur saw that there was moistness at the corners of his eyes, and though he frowned deeply his lips trembled. “I have never forgotten. Not for one second. I wake up every morning thinking of him, and he is my last thought when I close my eyes at night. But things have changed, Bofur.” His eyes trailed to the picture of Frodo that he had sketched and placed upon the mantelpiece. “I have a child to think about. Someone who needs me more than Thorin does. How can I ask him to take on that, when I am already what I am?”

“And what is that?”

“A Halfling. An outsider. A dirty little Hobbit. I’m not of noble blood, or even well-up bringing; at least not by Dwarf standards. I cannot provide him with an heir; and my wealth is but a drop in the bucket compared to the vast riches of Erebor. I have nothing to offer him.”  
Bofur smiled again and put his arms around the little Hobbit tightly and kissed his cheek. Bilbo gladly receded into his embrace, and breathed in the scent of old leather and tobacco smoke, horses and dirt, wood shavings and damp earth. “My dear friend, you offer more than anyone in this whole wide world could offer him. You have the other half of his heart.”

***

They talked long into the night, and the dark hours waned into a pink and chilly dawn. Bilbo had fallen asleep in his chair, and they had let him be, covering him with a blanket. Bofur had slept in the opposite chair, his chin tucked down to his chest and his great long mustache fluttering faintly as he snored softly.

Kili woke first, having slept little and feeling the ache and weight of it as he quietly padded around the long circular halls of the Hobbit Hole. He regretted his harsh words to Bilbo the night before; as they had said, he was not really angry at the Hobbit at all. In fact he was more than glad to see him again; but his own unhappiness had been gnawing at him persistently since before their journey had begun. He found himself in the kitchen then, where Nori had fallen asleep at the table, knife and fork still in hand in front of his empty plate. Kili draped a tablecloth over him as a makeshift blanket and picked up the dirty dishes and dropped them in the sink, then put the kettle on for tea. The warm smell of Bilbo’s kitchen warmed him and brightened his spirits a little as he looked out the little window to the rolling hills beyond. The fresh green color of the new grass and the freshly budded trees made him remember what he had spent so many months trying to forget, and the memory of Legolas ghosted over him like a breath of warm summer air.

“I hate the sunrise,” he muttered to no one and went back to preparing breakfast for himself and the others. He searched about for some butter and bread when he was greeted with the sight of the little Hobbit watching him from the doorway. “Well, come on in then, don’t be shy.” He coaxed. Frodo shuffled out into the open, watching him carefully, studying his face. “You’re…Kili?”

“Yes,” he answered with a surprise smile. He bowed low before the little Hobbit. “At your service. But how is it you know my name, young master?”

“Uncle Bilbo told me stories. He says you’re funny,” Kili had to stop himself from laughing, which was no small task, and straightened himself before scooping the boy up and placing him on the table top next to where Nori was still snoring, undisturbed. “Well, your Uncle Bilbo certainly has been telling tales then, hasn’t he? Did he ever tell you I once defeated a troll, all on my own?”

“He said that you got captured by Trolls. And that he had to tell the Trolls that you were full of worms, so they wouldn’t eat you. But they wanted to eat you anyway.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps he remembers it a little bit differently,” Kili winked offering the boy and apple from a nearby bowl. Frodo bit into it happily and then glanced down at Nori, still snoring and drooling onto his plate. “Are you staying for awhile?”

“Well, perhaps,” Kili nodded. “My Uncle, The King Under the Mountain, has some business with your Uncle Bilbo. We came ahead to let him know he was coming, and make sure everything was safe.”

“King Thorin is coming here? Really?” Frodo’s eyes were as wide and wondrous as any Kili had ever seen on a child. “Yes, I suppose he is.”  
“But why wouldn’t it be safe? The Shire is always safe…unless it rains, or the snows are too heavy.” The boy stopped smiling then and looked down at the little hairy patches on his feet and seemed to forget Kili for a time. The Dwarf let him think for a time, fumbling with the tea and attempting to put together some cake and honey and fruit for them to eat. He bit out of a large loaf of crusty bread, and then felt embarrassed when he felt Frodo’s eyes on him again. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it is rude to stare?”

“My mother’s dead.”

Kili blinked and nearly choked on his bread. “Oh. I’m very sorry to hear that.” He buttered a slice of bread for Frodo and sat down in front of him. “You know, I haven’t seen my mother in a very long time either. I don’t know if she’s still alive or not.”

“Do you miss her.”

“Of course,” He handed the boy a cooled cup of tea. “But I know that whatever happens, I will see her again.”

“You will?”

“We don’t really loose the people we love; not forever. Sometimes we just have to be parted for a little while. But we’ll all be together again, in the next life.”

They heard a rustling from outside the wind then and quarrelsome voices. Nori woke with a start then, and snorted loudly like a hog before unsheathing one of his hidden daggers. Kili pulled little Frodo out of the way, nervously glaring at his companion before shushing him. The three turned their attentions to the window, where they now saw shadows moving against the early dawn light. They could distinctly hear two voices now; one female and one male. The woman was shrill and bitter sounding, and the man’s was higher and a bit whiny like whimpering dog. Kili looked to Frodo, “Does your uncle usually have callers at this hour?”

Frodo shook his head, and looked nervously at the dwarf. “Should we go and wake him?” A quick tapping on the door however proved this to be unnecessary. They entered the front parlor just as Bilbo was getting out his chair; Thorin’s letter still clutched in his hand. He waved sleepily to them and padded his way over to the door, pulling it open at just a crack as he had the night before. “Who is it?”

“’Who is it’?” A woman’s voice snipped back. “It’s your cousin; Lobellia! Lotho and I came to see if everything was alright.”  
“And that no damage had been done to the house,” Lotho, her son’s, voice was heard behind her. She slapped at him and he whined again like a kicked dog and sneered at her behind her back. Bilbo opened the door a little more fully and blinked at the two of them. “It’s barely sunrise. You were so concerned about me that you came all the way up here before dawn, just to see if everything was alright?”

“Well, of course! You know how we worry about you and little Frodo here, all on your own.” Lobellia amended, trying to sound congenial. She heard a rustling behind him and saw several dark figures moving about the parlor. “Oh! I didn’t know you were entertaining,” she said then.

“I’m not,” Bilbo said, somewhat thoughtlessly as he was still trying to wake up.

“Then who are they?” Lotho spoke up, pointing behind the Hobbit. Bilbo turned, fully exposing his house guests as they stood there watching them. Nori still had his knife in his hand and Kili shoved his hand down and grinned nervously.

“Nevermind him, he’s harmless. We were just getting breakfast ready,” he chuckled. Frodo leered at his cousins as he stood tucked by Kili’s leg. “Don’t tell them that. They’ll want to come in and eat it all.”

Lotho heard this and his lip curled. He started forward at a lurch, “Come here and say that to my face you little brat,” But was stopped by Bilbo’s outstretched arm. The older hobbit lurched his cousin backwards with surprising strength and nudged them back out the door. “Look here,” he warned. “What I do, and whom I do it with, is none of your business. As so happens, some of my friends came down from the mountains to call on me, which is also none of your business. And if you—“ he pointed to Lotho, “—ever so much as look at the boy cross-eyed again, I’ll skin you alive. Understand?”

“Dwarves, Bilbo?” Lobellia cut in then, completely ignoring her cousin’s outburst. “Are you sure everything is alright? The last time Dwarves came to pay call at Bag End, we thought you dead!”

“And how very disappointed you were to learn otherwise,” he answered bitterly. He barely noticed then, although he would not recall it until later, that Lotho was staring nearly bug-eyed at the parchment in his hand. Bilbo tucked it nervously into his coat pocket and swatted at him. “I would be glad if you left me to my business then. And don’t worry about Frodo and I; I assure you were are very good hands, thank you.” And with that he stepped back into the hole and shut the door in their faces.  
He stood there for a moment, blood pumping and breathing angrily out his nose, all blustered and bothered, when he heard a snickering sound coming from behind him. He turned to find his guests standing together raising their hands to applaud him.

“You are something to be trifled with when you get your dander up, laddie!” Bofur laughed.

“Very funny, all of you.” Bilbo muttered. He scrubbed a hand across his face tiredly and tried to think; “Well, there’s nothing for it now. The whole Shire will know you’re here in less than an hour’s time, you can bet on that. I hope it wasn’t a secret.”

“A secret? Heavens no! In fact, the sooner they know, the better! There’s a lot to do before Thorin arrives.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s to be a gathering! Didn’t he mention it in the letter?”

“No, he didn’t!” Bilbo blustered. “Why must there be a gathering, why can’t he just come and see me himself?”

“Because! It’s quite an occasion, lad! There’s pomp and circumstance and all other manner of ceremony that has to be done. It’s the way of things.” Bofur tried to explain, but Bilbo just looked more and more exasperated.

“I don’t think he’s caught on,” Nori said finally.

“Obviously not! Would anyone care to enlighten me on this little lark, eh?”  
Bofur looked at him carefully, both hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you know what he’s coming here to ask ye, lad? He means to make ye his Royal Consort. That’s a high honor indeed.”

“’Consort’? What do you mean, ‘consort’?”

“It’s not like a whore, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Kili interjected and Nori kicked at him. “What! I’m just clarifying!”

“Oh shut it you, you wouldn't know a whore if one fell into your bed.”

“Unlike you?”

“What it means is,” Nori cut in, “you’ll be his confidant, his lover. It’s the highest honor that can be bestowed on such a relationship where a proper marriage is not involved. You’ll have titles and land, not to mention all sorts of other trimmings and trappings. And you’ll be present at court—“  
Bilbo paled, his head swam and suddenly Nori was catching him before he hit the floor. The three Dwarves and young Frodo exchanged nervous glances. “That’s a good thing, right?” Kili asked.

***


	2. Heavy is the Crown of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili tries to adjust to his new role in Erebor, despite being constantly compared to his uncle and brother. He finds comfort in the arms of Bard, but the bowman has his own worries about the future King. During talks about the reconstruction of Dale, a familiar face appears in the halls of Erebor, with a desperate warning.

***

A cool wind blew down from the mountain that morning, but the sunlight dawning over the hills to the East was bright and warm. Balin admired its golden gleam as he strode through the halls, a hopeful feeling swelling in his chest as he watched the sunrise through the narrow windows of the upper halls. After such a long time, he was finally beginning to feel at home again in Erebor; finally allowing himself to relax. The great calamities and days of death and danger seemed at last behind them now, and Thorin’s reign would prove to be one peace and restoration. At least, these were his fondest wishes.

  
He exhaled deeply and turned at last to the great doors at the end of the corridor; Fili’s bedchamber. In his absence, Thorin had left his eldest nephew to attend to his affairs. Balin had few concerns with this decision, for of the two princes, Fili was calm and level-headed and less easily distracted than his younger brother. At least, to a degree. But he still required a measured hand and plenty of guidance. Balin had been in the service of Kings longer than he could remember, and had served Thrain almost as closely as he had served Thorin. He knew well what was expected of the King, and all the old customs and matters of etiquette that had to be observed. It was tedious at times for the young Dwarf, but Balin had faith in him.

  
He knocked gently upon the door, “Fili, lad, I hate to disturb you, but we need to be gettin’ an early start. I thought we could go over the trade agreements one more time before our guests arrive.” There was a rustling inside that sounded hurried and he chuckled into his beard and turned the knob, “Well good to see you’re up already,” he grinned opening the door. The sight that greeted him, however, was not the one he expected.

Ori was rushing around the bed chamber, hastily tossing aside draperies and peeking behind furniture, muttering worriedly to himself; “Fili! This isn’t funny! You promised you would be back before morning!”

_“AHEM.”_

Ori squealed in fright and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of Balin, and fell over with another yelp, dragging down the heavy velvet draperies with him. “Mister Balin! I’m sorry, I was just--!”

“Ori, where has he gone? Tell me, now, we’ve no time for shenanigans!” The snowy bearded dwarf exclaimed, pulling the younger from the heap of fabric.

“I uh…oh….” Ori sputtered, wringing his gloved hands. “It’s just that, he swore me to secrecy!”

_“Out with it, Ori!”_

“But he’s the King! I can’t disobey him…can I?”

“He’s not King, not yet, and you know that well enough you little git.” Balin exhaled loudly and put his head in his hand and tried to quell his temper, which was so rare a thing to see. He patted Ori’s shoulder to assure him he meant no harm, “Nevermind, I know where he’s gone. He’s with that bowman again.”

“Um, how do you know?”

“It seems the line of Durin has developed a rather amorous branch that has rather poor judgment. He’s more like his uncle and his brother than he knows. Well, go on, up with you! Take a guard and go and fetch him back.”

“Me?”

“Well, you’re his accomplice aren’t you? This is your punishment. Go and bring him back here, and don’t dawdle!”

***

Bard was the first to wake that morning before even the first rays of light had come through the windows. He was accustomed to waking and rising early, but this morning he found himself reluctant to start the day. The warm figure tucked against him breathed in and out softly, and the heat radiating off his bare skin beneath the quilts and furs was intoxicating. Bard pushed away a mass of straw and gold colored hair to reveal his naked neck. Bard pressed his nose and lips against it, breathing in Fili’s scent, which was heavier in sleep. The Dwarf moaned a little and his hand fumbled blindly for the bowman’s before grasping it in his own and drawing it up against his chest. “Good morning…” Fili mumbled as his lover continued to kiss him awake.

“It’s barely dawn. Go back to sleep,” the bowman whispered into the shell of his ear.

“I can hardly manage that with you going on that way,” the blonde chuckled and rolled so that he could lie on his back and look up at the other man. He stroked his face and studied it, “You still look tired. You should take some of your own advice.”

“Sleep is something I’m used to going without. Besides, it was a warm night and it will be good fishing this morning. I should be on my way,” he kissed him eagerly and made to climb out of bed but Fili pulled him back. “I told you, you don’t have to do that anymore. Things are different now, your children aren’t going to starve, I promise.”

But this didn’t sway Bard and he simply wriggled out of the Dwarf’s grasp and bent to reach for his clothing. The cool morning air gave him gooseflesh and he shivered a little as he pulled on his trousers. “I am grateful for what you have done for us, but I am fisherman by trade, and there are other people who depend on me. We are not all so lucky to be bedfellows with the future King, you know.”

Fili sat up, “You’re a hero, you shouldn’t have to work if you don’t want to.” But he relented then and stood up himself, searching for his own clothes. “But I understand.”  
Bard seemed almost surprised by this, but the Dwarf simply gave him one of his twinkling smiles beneath his beard and nodded, busying himself with braiding his hair; “You’re a proud man. I wouldn’t deprive you of your work, I know what it means to you and the town.”

“Well…thank you for that.” Bard nodded, pulling on his coat, “I won’t have you spoiling me,” he added more cheerily, hoping he hadn’t offended the Dwarf. But Fili looked perfectly at ease. In fact, he looked beautiful, just sitting there on the edge of the bed, the sunlight making his hair gleam gold. “I don’t deserve you, you know that.” He found himself saying aloud. Fili blinked at him and just smiled brighter. “Idiot. Go on with you, get to the boats. I’ll make breakfast for everyone, shall I?”

“That’s very kind of you.” He waited until the Dwarf had dressed then bent and kissed him goodbye as Fili trotted down the stairs after him to the lower level of the house to start the cooking fire. There, they found that the children were already awake. Sigrid and Tilda were stirring a skillet over the hearth, and Bain was scaling a fish over a barrel.

“Good morning you two,” Sigrid greeted, a knowing smile on her pretty face. “We thought you would sleep in this morning.”  
Bard had a look of embarrassment on his stern face that showed he was afraid they had overheard them the night before. But Fili knew better; the elder children were not foolish, they knew of the nature of their relationship and that such things go on in the dark. But Bard was a father, and a father never truly likes to believe that his children are growing up and understand such things about the world.

“There’s work to be done. Bain, you’ll come with me, I have a job for you. Sigrid, you’ll—“

“Take care of Tilda, yes, father, as always. Won’t you come and have some bacon before you leave?”  
Bard took a slice from the plate that Tilda held out for him and softened, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. You’re growing up so fast,”

“Oh papa, I’m practically a lady already!” Tilda interjected, hands on her hips. Fili chuckled at her, “Yes, you are indeed.”

“Fili, can we go hunting later, if the weather is fair?” Bain asked as he pulled on his coat and boats, shouldering his bag of supplies.

“Now boy, don’t trouble Fili with your games, I’m sure he has affairs of his own to attend to.”

‘’Sadly, I do. But I shall take you up on that hunt if I finish with business before dusk.” He said. Bain beamed, but Tilda pouted. “Why can’t I ever go hunting?”

“Girls don’t go hunting,” her sister replied. “It isn’t lady like.”

Fili bent and looked her in the eye as she sat on the floor, “A lady may do whatever she wishes, so long as it is in grace and kindness. I shall teach you to hunt, if your father permits. We’ll start with rabbits.”

“But they are so small and furry…”

Sigrid sighed and shook her head, her chestnut braid waving. “I told you, it’s no good. She’s just jealous is all.”

“Am not!”

“Enough!” Bard shushed them, “Tilda, you mind your sister,” He hurried them out the door, leaving the girls behind. As they left the house and crossed the warped plank roads down to the docks, Bard looked again to his lover. “You don’t need to do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Fili, I am grateful for all you have done. I cherish you, and my children adore you. But you needn’t make idle promises; they are old enough to understand.”  
“Understand what, exactly?” The dwarf asked, coming to a stop and causing Bard to fall back as well, while Bain remained ahead, knowing he shouldn’t ease drop. Fili looked sternly at the bowman; “You don’t want them getting too attached, is that it?”

“I never said that.”

“But you think as much. You think me fickle, and that one day I will tire of you and find some noblewoman to bed and forget all about you. That’s it isn’t it?”  
Bard did not speak, but Fili read this fear clearly in his face. The dwarf took his hand firmly; “Don’t take me so lightly, Bard. Whatever mistakes my kin has made in the past, I will not repeat. My heart chose you, whatever may come. Please, trust me that my feelings are true.”  
Bard felt ashamed then and nodded and gave him another little kiss, which Bain pretended not to see. “I love you. Forgive me.”

“And I you,” Fili nodded. He glanced then out across the lake to the sun climbing over the mountain, and his face suddenly paled and he cursed loudly in Dwarvish. “Oh no, I’m late!”

“Late?”

Fili yanked the bowman down to his level and kissed him roughly before releasing him and turning at a run, leaping from the pier onto an unoccupied boat. It rocked crazily for a moment in the water, before he steadied it and grabbed the oar, frantically paddling away.

“You’ll take forever that way! Come back and I will take you across on my barge!” Bard called to him.

“No time, I’ll be fine! I’m sure they’re waiting for me!” Fili waved back. He cringed at the thought however, knowing that he was in for a long, tedious lecture on duty and responsibility and how he needed to behave more like Thorin and less like Kili.

***

“Of all the childish nonsense,” Balin blustered, storming about the room as Fili took his time washing himself in the hot spring. “running away in the middle of the night like some amorous boy! I would expect that from your brother, but not you, Fili! You’re supposed to be the level-headed one!”  
It was exactly as expected.

“I am quite level-headed, Balin. There are still several hours before we are expected at the meeting, and I’ve taken careful notes from our last talk about what it is Thorin wants me to say. I am well prepared to offer the reconstruction project of Dale twice what we paid Bard for his part in the battle and more if necessary. I am also prepared to offer several of our blacksmiths, the use of our forge whatever they might need, in exchange for a share of their fish and the use of their boats in our travels along the Running River.”

Balin paused and exhaled loudly through his nose, his arms folded over his chest. “Well, I am glad to see you were paying attention. But that still doesn’t excuse your behavior. You shouldn’t be going off anywhere alone these days; and dragging poor little Ori into it is just unfair. You know how he looks up to you.”

“You act as if I can’t take care of myself, but we both know better. I’m more than a match for any drunken townsmen that might cross my path, and I have been into the woods around the mountain on more than one occasion and know the dangers there.” He stood and toweled himself off and pulled on his tunic to hide his nakedness. “I am not my uncle, but neither am I my brother. I am my own. I wish someone in the whole of Erebor would remember that!”

“I’m sorry, lad,” the old Dwarf amended. “You’re right, you are very much your own man. One that would make your mother and father proud.” Fili nodded his head gratefully and pulled on his breeches, fumbling with the laces. He heard Balin make a “tisk-tisk” noise under his breath when he saw one of the love bites on the young prince’s neck, butFili only smirked. “Don’t be jealous. You know, you are not too old for a mate, Balin.”

The snowy bearded man balked at him and then laughed and shook his head; “My dear boy, I am indeed far too old for such things. I have neither the energy nor the time. There are a great many things to do, getting this place back in shape and assisting with the rebuilding of Dale.”

“Don’t you get lonely at night?”

“No.” Balin said plainly, “Especially now when there are so many Dwarves about. I can hardly sleep, much less ‘be lonely’.” Fili saw a little beneath his smile, to the younger man he had once been and wondered if he had truly been happy once with his grandfather, as Thorin had told him. Someday, Fili determined, he would get up the nerve to ask his old friend about the whole thing. But that was a tale for another day.

He handed his friend the rest of his clothing; fine robes trimmed with fur and an ornate golden belt studded with bright rubies, and a headpiece of ruby and garnet, which Thorin had fashioned for him. Fili still felt awkward in such finery, though he had always been told one day such things would be his. “It suits you,” Balin replied, as if he knew what the prince was thinking. Fili smiled nervously, “You won’t let me make a fool of myself, will you?”

“Of course not, lad. Of course not. I have advised and counseled two generations of your family, and now, I am honored to do the same for the third.” Fili hugged him hard and then together they made for the Hall of Kings, to await the arrival of their guests.

***  
The late morning meeting waned long into the afternoon, and what had started out as a first exercise in diplomatic and political matters at their most common, soon became a new method of torture for Fili. As arguments volleyed back and forth, leaving little room for his interjection, Fili found his mind wandering back to simpler days wandering the hills with his brother at his side. He missed Kili, and moreover, the happiness they had shared together before this adventure had changed their roles so drastically. He prayed that he would be safe, and somehow reconcile his feelings about his lost love.  
The men and dwarves quarreled over how many laborers could be spared and the time that would be given to complete the project, before the snows of winter visited them once more.

“The problem, my lord, is truly a matter of leadership,” one of the men said then, recapturing the tired dwarf’s attentions. “There are too many differences in opinion, things we have been unable to sort out amongst ourselves.”

“Oh, so we should let the Dwarves dictate how we are to rebuild then?”

“That was not what I was suggesting, I was only explaining—“

Another row was about to erupt, Fili spoke up; “If its leadership you lack, then I give you a leader; Bard.”

They stared at him in a hush, and Balin fidgeted nervously beside him, clearly wondering if the young prince wasn’t overplaying his hand and showing favoritism. Fili felt their questioning glances like blows from fists, but he would not flinch. Instead she squared his shoulders and stood so that he might look them all squarely in the eyes as they remained seated. “Tell me that I am wrong. Bard had always been a pillar of your community, has he not? Even when you were all laboring and suffering and dying under the thumb of the master; he alone stood to oppose him. He stood up for you, defended you, at great cost to himself and without hope of gratitude. And lest we all forget; it was Bard who single-handedly slew the dragon Smaug with his black arrow.

‘We all owe our lives to him,” He glanced to Balin to see what he would say, but the old dwarf only nodded solemnly. “You are men of Laketown, descendants of the once great city of Dale. It is not our place to govern you, nor make your hard choices for you. But if you ask of me whom I believe among you could manage the task; then I have given you your answer.”

There were murmurs of agreement and encouraging smiles from some of the council members, and Fili tried to steady his shaking hands against the stone table, and wished his uncle and mother could see him now. But before anymore could be said, there was a commotion outside the great doors, followed by the clattering of spears and the sound of bodies hitting the floor. The doors came open with a forceful jerk, and to their surprise, Tauriel of Mirkwood stood before them, breathless and battle worn.  
“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” blustered Gloin, who barely recognized the girl at first glance.

Fili waved at him to be quiet and moved swiftly around the table, the meeting suddenly forgotten.

“Captain Tauriel, are you alright?”

“Where is Kili? Where is your brother?” the Elf panted, and Fili rushed to steady her as she swayed on her feet. “He is not here, he’s gone away with my uncle on personal business. What has happened?”

“The King is gone as well?”

Fili nodded and she seemed to take a moment to gather herself before gripping his shoulders; “Then they could both be in great danger. My patrol and I were surveying the southern edge of the forest when marauding hoard of Goblins, come down from the hills. We tracked them to the edge of the Wilderland…and found that they had attacked the house of the Skin Changer.”

“Beorn?”

“Yes…we did our best to give aid, but they are many, and fiercer than we were prepared for. Legolas staid to fend them off, while I came for aid.”  
Fili felt his heart sink and his pulse quicken at the same time; “But that’s such a long way! Why came you here when help lies with your armies in the forest?”

She shook her head and he had to steady her again, “I could not lead them back into the stronghold, they would overwhelm our forces and lay siege to the King’s fortress. I could not compromise that,”

Fili tried to understand, but there seemed to be no more time. “Ready a platoon and as many archers as we can spare, I’m going with them.”

“Fili, no, you can’t!”

“They need our help!” he bellowed back over the objections. “Tell me Thorin would act differently. Tell me!” But no one dared. Balin looked to the rest of their company, who had been watching breathlessly. “Bifur, Golin, go and do as he asks; tell Ori to send word to the stables and round up some ponies.”

 

***


	3. Betrayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili arrives too late to assist Beorn and the Elves, but finds a far more sinister surprise waiting for him.

****

Dwarves are not frequent riders, but they are swift and sure when they need be. Fili and his men followed Tauriel’s lead down the old Forest road, and found their swiftness almost impossible, as if some magic propelled them along. Fili did not stare into the woods as they passed, feeling as if he did he would be ensnared by the again. Still, he felt eyes watching him from every root and branch, and did not favor the feeling at all.

“Is this some magic of yours, my Lady, that carries us along so swiftly?” he asked as he rode beside her, and kept pace with her own galloping stead. She shook her head and gave him the faintest of smiles, “Perhaps. But keep your eyes upon the road, lest you trip your horse and be trampled.”

“I have little fear of that,” Fili grunted and dare to spur his pony on even faster than her great white stallion. Tauriel had to admire him then, but she spoke no more until they came to the clearing of the trees at the edge of the wild.

The smell of blood and fire filled the air and several of the ponies startled and nearly threw their riders. Beyond the tree line was a field of destruction and death. The hewn bodies of Goblins, dozens upon dozens stained the yellow grasses with their black blood, and among them were the slain figures of Elves, though these were fewer. Tauriel rushed to her wounded men who were crying out in pain and tried to ease their suffering.

Fili dismounted, for he was surer on foot and drew his sword and started off at a run, his friends calling after him worriedly. Bifur was at his side then, axe in hand and gave the young prince a questioning look, but Fili did not see it, for his eyes were on the smoldering remains of the once great wooden house at the edge of the river. “Bifur, take a few men and search the tree-line, see where the cowards have retreated to.”

His friend nodded and motion to Gloin and Ori to follow him, while the others looked to Fili for instruction.

“Search for survivors!”

He approached the woman cautiously, not wanting to intrude. To his dismay she was weeping, and the Elf beside her seemed to have passed beyond hearing. Fili touched her shoulder; “Come, we must see if there are others we can help.”

She nodded silently and rose and they made their way to the remains of the house at a run, passing frightened and disoriented goats and sheep as they lingered about the ruined pastures. It did not take them long to spot the wounded remains of the great bear. Fili called out to him and fell beside him, stroking the beast’s great head. But it seemed too late; the shape changer had perished, many spears and arrows piercing his hide.

“We are too late,” he moaned, smoothing down the matted black fur. “Forgive me, friend, I could not save you.”

“He fought bravely; he died with honor.” she said behind him. Fili felt himself scowl then, “He died alone. Is Thrandruil such a coward that he would send for troops as far away as the Lonely Mountain for aid, rather than save those he could upon his own doorstep?” He tried to quell the anger that he felt rising up in his throat and exhaled bitterly through his nose. “Where is your Prince for that matter? I know his valor, he would not have allowed this.”

Tauriel didn’t answer him, and Fili was about to round on her when, he noticed that there was something scratched into the ground next to the bear’s body; words crudely formed by a claw perhaps. Fili stared, not quite believing what he was seeing. “Trap…” he muttered.

He felt a knife come beneath this chin then and he froze, eyes flicking upward. The Goblin glared down him with beady blood shot eyes and showed a hideous row of yellow teeth. “Go on,” it snarled, “I like to watch ‘em bleed.”

“You’ll not touch him,” Tauriel’s voice snarled back and for a moment Fili felt relieved. “If you wish our agreement to remain intact, you’ll stay your blade.”  
Fili turned then, not caring if the blade cut him and balked at her. He had only a moment to look upon her face as she stood behind him before he was swarmed by several other Goblin soldiers, teeth gnashing and clawed hands ripping at him, as they flattened him to the ground and bound him with cruel chains that cut and pinched his flesh.

“Tauriel! Tauriel!”

“Forgive me,” he heard her say and her voice was full of sorrow and grief. “Forgive me, they left me no choice.”

As some of the wicked creatures moved from his sight, satisfied that he was unable to defend himself, he saw that they had indeed walked right into a trap; for his forces were quickly overwhelmed by a throng of Goblin warriors, who held them at bay with long spears and clubs studded with spikes. Some of the Elves that had been wounded upon the ground rose gradually to their feet, helped by their brethren, whom had apparently only been playing dead. They looked piteously upon him, but could not hold his gaze.

“Where is your Chieftain then?” The she-Elf demanded, addressing the hoard. “Tell him I have done as he has bid, and now he will pay my price.” Some of the rabble cackled and screeched at her in their foul tongue, but eventually the crowd parted, and a rather bulbous looking Goblin, just a little taller than Fili himself limped forward.

He was a wicked thing to behold, misshapen and covered in festering sores, he smelled of muck and decay, and his two bulbous eyes, which were as yellow as dandelion petals, leered up at them. He held a high staff fashioned of bone and barbs, skulls of small animals clinking from twisted bits of twine.

He looked upon Fili and studied him for a moment and then snarled at the Captain again, showing a double-row of fang-like teeth. “This is not what we agreed, She Elf! You promised me a King and you bring me this carcass of dwarf filth instead. Our deal is off!”  
“Hold!” she commanded and waved her sword at him, even though at least ten archers had their arrows fixed upon her. “The King Under the Mountain is gone from this place, and here in his stead is his next of kin; The future King! You look upon this as failure, but I see only opportunity. A fine ransom you shall have for his head; for his uncle loves him dearly.”

Fili cursed at her in Dwarvish and was struck with a club to silence him, which left him dizzy and bleeding, but no less furious. “Traitor! I’d sooner die here than give these monsters even the dirt from our mountain!”

Tauriel ignored him. “Does our agreement stand? Will this please your master?”

The Goblin Chieftain seemed to think this over for a few agonizing seconds, and then nodded, grinning. “Yes…yes. He will be good sport after all. You please me, Elf.”

“I hope you smolder in the fires of your own forges. Now release him!” she answered back, and Fili furrowed his brow in confusion. There was further commotion among the ranks and something was being dragged through the throng. Two foot soldiers appeared then, dragging a bound figure upon the ground before kicking him towards the woman. Fili saw that it was another Elf, but did not recognize whom he was immediately. Tauriel dropped to his side at once and cut his bonds, but the other barely moved and made only a soft pained sound. He had been beaten terribly, and his hair was rusty with blood. As she tried to rouse him, Fili at last recognized him as Legolas.

“You swore he would not be harmed!”

“Let’s not haggle,” the cheiftan cackled, and his laugh was like ice cracking beneath your feet. “Be glad you got him back with all his bits intact; pretty little thing he is.” He turned then to his marauders and bade them to retreat, leaving the other dwarves and elves standing in stunned stillness. Fili felt himself being lifted and dragged away and he screamed in rage, struggling with all his strength against his bonds. “Tauriel! You don’t know what you’ve done!! Tauriel!”

****


	4. Words with the Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet up at last with Thorin on his way to Bree to meet with Gandalf before continuing on to Bag End, and plans are revealed in the dark corners of that familiar pub.

****

Thorin’s brow furrowed as he came from a deep sleep and looked up, his neck stiff and back aching. Dwalin was kneeling in front of him, gathering their supplies. “Bad dream?” he asked, without actually looking at Thorin. The other dwarf nodded silently and sat up, rubbing his neck. They had been riding for the last day and a half with hardly any rest, and it had finally caught up with the dwarf when they had stopped to water and feed the ponies. He had sat down for only a moment, and had fallen at once to sleep.  
Now the sun’s rays were slanting low, the color of gold and bronze, and the sky above them was darkening with evening clouds. Rain would be setting in that night. “Why did you let me sleep so long?” he muttered as Dwalin gave him a hand getting to his feet. His old friend smirked; “I couldn’t have roused you if I tried. You were exhausted; you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” Dori said then from where he stood by his pony, fussing about the saddle and the arrangements of all their bags. “Eager though I know you are, sir, you’ll get to The Shire no faster by driving yourself into the ground.”

“We could travel lighter if weren’t for all these supplies,” Thorin grumbled, climbing back onto his pony, a pretty coal colored mare, pulling the map from his pocket to confirm their location. “Bree is not far from here, we should make it by dust. Gandalf will be waiting.”

“Do they have good mead there?” Dwalin asked, mounting his own mare in one easy move, leaning over to slap Dori’s horse of the flank and the lazy thing (and its rider) a little jump start. “I could use a stiff drink.”

“Oh I do hope they have a nice red wine as well,” Dori said airily and Thorin shook his head, not all together certain why of all his companions he chose Dori to come along on this journey. Then again, it was Dori who understood all manner of pleasantries and traditions that even Thorin himself had forgotten the details of. Things that would be useful in The Shire, but not of much utility upon the road.

“They have that in more, although the company leaves something to be said. We shall have to be very careful, and not reveal ourselves too readily.”

“Aye, although I wouldn’t mind cracking a few skulls while we’re at it. Been too long since I had a good fight. Don’t want to be going soft,” Dwalin laughed, feeling the thickness of his own bicep.

“Come on, or we’ll never reach it by nightfall.”

They started off again down the old familiar road, feeling the warmth of the day escaping them like a breath of air, and the chill of the night coming on. Still, it felt warm to the Mountain dwellers, who were used to snow and ice long into the spring season. Thorin was smiling quietly to himself and it was clear that his mind was far away, with a certain adventurer in his cozy hole in the ground. Dwalin and Dori smiled as well and it was Dori who broke the silence; “What will you say when you see him again?”

“I don’t imagine there’ll be much talkin,” Dwalin chuckled. “Too much kissing and making for the nearest bedroom, I imagine.”

Thorin kicked at him and he swerved to avoid the blow, still laughing. “I’m not sure what I will say,” the King said at length. “I only hope that he will indeed be as happy to see me as I am him.”

“Of course he will! Bilbo loves you!”

Thorin nodded, but he worried. He couldn’t decide which thought twisted his heart more; that Bilbo had ignored his letters on purpose, wanting to put what they had well behind him, or that something had prevented him from giving word and brought him some kind of harm. His worries showed on his face and aged him some and he spurred the pony on into a fast canter, forcing the others to try and keep up as best they could.

***

Bree was exactly as Thorin remembered it from his last journey; cloistered and crowded, streets teaming with patrons of nearly all races, including his own. He made sure not to linger though, as he was not keen to be recognized by unsavory eyes. Once he had carried a certain anonymity in these parts that had allowed him some safety; not any more. And Bree was teaming with the sort of character that would love to exploit him.

  
Dwalin staid close by his side, a hand always on his weapon, brow furrowed in a dangerous scowl, and Thorin had to remind him not to appear too eager for a fight, or he would indeed get one. They stabled their ponies and entered The Prancing Pony, just as the rain set in, and found a raucous crowd inside to greet them. The air was always acrid with pipe smoke, and the thickness of it was dizzying. There was also the smell of spilled mead and beer, and the lingering stink of unwashed men and women that muddled with the greasy aroma of meat, onions and potatoes. Dori coughed and winced, and looked almost as if he would faint, but Dwalin dragged him along, having no time for his delicate constitutions.

  
Dori gave the name of “Iron Hill” to the Inn Keeper, who nodded and gave them a room key and pointed them to a booth at the far back of the Inn near the fireplace. There, Thorin spotted a very familiar pointy grey hat.

  
The wizard was smoking his pipe, his eyes heavy lidded, obviously deep in thought. The plate of slated pork and cheese before him was hardly touched, and beside him he had a warm cup of tea which smelled heavily of lavender. “You are late,” Gandalf said without really looking up and pushed the plate of food in front of him. “I thought perhaps the rain delayed you.”

  
Thorin slammed his fist upon the table and pushed the food away, taking the seat across from the wizard and glaring at him under the rim of his hat. “You take me too lightly, wizard. What makes you think anything could keep me away?”

  
Gandalf looked up slowly and he smiled beneath the line of his old grey beard, and they both chuckled and clasped hands, the wizard nearly pulling Thorin across the table to embrace him. “It has been too long, old friend. Glad is my heart to see you.”

  
“I feel the same, Gandalf.” Thorin nodded and ushered the others to sit down. More food and drink arrived presently, for the wizard had anticipated their needs. Dori and Dwalin dug in eagerly, happy to have a full meal in a warm dry place after their long weeks upon the road. Thorin however, only took a swallow of mead before he spoke again; “And where have you been these long months, old friend? What have you seen in your travels?”

  
“Oh, many things, but none so very interesting,” Gandalf mumbled between smoke rings. “A wizard has many errands which take him far and wide across this vast land. I have been in Lothlorien for a time, visiting the Elves, and to his Lord Elrond’s house in Rivendell, and a great many other, charming, but inconsequential places as well. Such is our nature. How fair you and your kin in the mountain?”

  
“It has been slow and laborious, but much of the former glory of our halls has been restored. We have buried and mourned our dead, we have developed good strong trade with the men of Long Lake. For which I have Fili and Bard to thank for.”

  
“Ah, so that is still going on, I see,” Gandalf chuckled. “I am glad of it, such arrangements have often benefitted many neighboring kingdoms. And you didn’t even need to go through all the hassle of an arranged marriage. It just fell into your lap, as it were.” He paused then before adding; “And how is Kili?”

  
“Not himself. He has had a hard time with the separation. I blame myself; if I had been more forgiving in the beginning, our relations with the Elven King and his kin might not have soured so.”

  
“Nothing you could have done would have swayed Thrandruil,” Gandalf assured. “He is fearful and covetous; these are his great weaknesses. Legolas could have easily defied his father and gone on with the affair; but he chose not to.”

  
Thorin nodded, but it did not assuage his guilt in the matter. “Did you see them pass by here? We sent them on ahead about a week before, to make sure everything would be ready. You know how Bilbo hates surprise guests.”

“A week ahead of you, you say? Oh dear…”

“What?”

“I saw them but two days ago.”

Thorin stared and then an old familiar look of anger crossed his face and he irritatbly rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Those idiots…”

Dwalin started to laugh in spite of himself, knowing how carefully planned Thorin had wanted this visit to be and how quickly it had gone downhill. He felt bad for his friend, truly, but he could not help but laugh. “Well, this is turning out to be a rather typical adventure after all.”

“Perhaps you should stay the night here, and allow them a little more time to ready things for your arrival. I know that Bilbo will be flustered enough as it is.”

“Then you know of the missing letters?”

“I know that something is amiss in Hobbiton. It could be something as simple as an incompetent mail man…or perhaps something more deliberate.”

As he spoke this, he did not see another pair of eyes watching them, or a keen set of ears listening. Lotho Baggins, who was a frequent patron of the inn, had come that drizzly night to drown his frustrations in ale and gambling, away from the eyes of his neighbors. Lotho was boiling in his own ill-temper that night, after having another argument with his father about that ever festering boil under his skin; Bilbo Baggins.

Lotho hated Bilbo, a hatred that had been growing ever since he was a wee child. It had come down to him from his parents; who were always complaining about how Bag End should have come to them, and that it was unfair for Bilbo—a bachelor—should have such a big place all to himself. After the business with the Dwarves, and the debacle over the auction, Lotho’s hatred had only grown. He had been so close to living high on the hill and really making something of himself in the town. Through no effort of his own, of course.

His dreams had been all but squashed, when a letter had come to him by mistake one day. A letter from a very great distance, and from a King no less. A letter addressed to Bilbo. Ever since that day, Lotho had been bribing the mail carrier to leave any more letters of the kind with him. And so Lotho had learned in great detail of the affair Bilbo had carried on with the King Under the Mountain, and learned of all the great wealth he had forsaken.

Lotho was green with jealousy then, at the very idea that this great luck should come to someone so undeserving. He bemoaned that he had not the fortune to come across Oakenshield and his company first; for he would have done things a bit differently.

He cursed into his beer and burped, scratching at the ever-present red rash upon his face and leered across the room. And that’s when he spotted the wizard and his odd company. Now, Lotho would not have known Thorin by sight, but as he listened he began to understand. Perhaps his luck was not all bad after all.

 

After a time, Dwalin and Dori excused themselves, to make ready to room and to allow their leader and the wizard more privacy.

“You have changed,” Gandalf said at length he seemed certain that no one was listening. Thorin looked up from his plate, though he hadn’t eaten much. “There is a heaviness about you that was not there before. It has aged you.”

Thorin smirked a little and took another drink. “I have always felt older than I look,” was all he managed. Gandalf studied him and offered him some pipe weed from his pouch for his own pipe, which Thorin took and filled his own with. “Have you considered that he might refuse your proposal?” the grey-bearded man asked.

“Of course,”

“It may very well come to that. As much as you mean to him, The Shire is where he belongs. He would feel out of place among your people, however much you and your companions honor and accept him. It would certainly not be easy for him.”

Thorin did not answer immediately, but spoke softly then as he breathed a puff of smoke; “I’m not asking him to return to Erebor with me.”

This seemed to startle the wizard and he sat back in his seat, watery blue eyes staring. “You’re not? That is not what I understood, at least from what your letters to me described. What has changed?”

“I mean to offer myself to him, if he will still have me, and be with him all my days. But he will not be returning to Erebor. And neither will I.”

“You are abdicating the throne? After all you’ve come through to claim it? Surely, Thorin, you have not thought this through thoroughly.”

Thorin leered at him and Gandalf was surprised to see the fire that was in his eyes; “It is all I have thought of these long months. I have brought wrath and death to Erebor. Isuccumbed to the same maladies as my forebears. I have disgraced the name of Durin.”

“You have redeemed yourself, Thorin. You made amends for your mistakes, and there is no shame in that. And what is more, you endure. Through madness, fire, and blood, Thorin, you have endured! That cannot be said of your forebears.”

Thorin nodded gratefully for the words, but did not seem comforted. “All I desire now is peace. The wealth of Erebor is naught but poison in my veins; and I am all but finished. The throne must go now to Fili, as it was always meant to.”

“But he is still so young.”

“He has grown, and thrived since the last days of battle. He is no longer a boy, but a man; a leader. I could not be more proud of him.”

Gandalf mulled this over and blew several smoke rings that changed from grey to blue to white as they drifted over Thorin’s head. “Well then, that is something to think on isn’t it? You seem very sure.”

Thorin nodded solemnly. “Does anyone else know of your intentions?” the wizard asked then. Still he did not see the hunched over Hobbit ease dropping on them from behind.

“No,” the King answered. “I will tell them, when the time comes. I do feel that Dwalin has his supsicions, but he has not told me as such.”

Thorin finished his drink and stood then, bowing graciously to the wizard; “Thank you for meeting us here, my friend. Your company and council has been sorely missed. Now I must retire for the evening, for I am weary and have much to think on.” He turned to leave but Gandalf touched his hand; “Do not doubt his affections for you,” he said in reference to Bilbo. “let that love sustain you. I have found that is a cure for all ills of mind and soul.”

Thorin said goodnight to his companions, who were singing songs at the bar, and made his way to the upper levels of the Inn. He was followed, and as he turned the knob upon his door, he heard a voice call out to him; “Excuse me good sir!”

Thorin glanced over his shoulder and did his best to stay the hand that wanted to reach for his sword. “Yes? What is it?” He was somewhat surprised then to see another Hobbit, for he had not seen many outside the Shire, and he eased himself a little. He should not have.

Lotho stepped closer and then bowed graciously, “Lotho Sackville-Baggins, at your service my lord. Am I indeed in the presence of his majesty, The King Under the Mountain?”

“What of it?” Thorin grunted, and his hand rested upon the hilt of his faithful weapon, which he made sure Lotho saw. Then he paused; “Did you say ‘Baggins’, Halfling?”

“Indeed, sir! I am the cousin of Mr. Bilbo Baggins! Oh he has spoke much of you, sir, he has.” Lotho continued in a simpering voice coated in honey that made Thorin want to retreat into his room and slam the door. “I daresay all his tales did not accurately capture your magnificence, sire.”

“Enough flattery. What is it that you want, Mr. Baggins?”

“’Sackville-Baggins’,” Lotho corrected quickly, “I could not help but notice you in the pub this evening, sire, and wonder if you mean to pay call on my cousin?”

“That is my business.”

“Certainly sire, but I must warn you that you may not find yourself welcome. Forgive me for saying as such, but I felt you need to know. My cousin has rather soured in his fondness for Dwarves after his adventure. He’s become somewhat of a recluse and will have no visitors. His adventures have quite changed him, and not at all for the better I fear.”

Thorin’s face fell, and Lotho had to hide his smirk. “Oh. I see. I am very sorry to hear that.”

“As am I, your majesty. Well, if you do intend to visit the Shire anyway, please look me up. My family and I would be happy to host you and your friends! For compensation, of course…”

“Of course,” Thorin muttered, not at all hearing him. He nodded then and stepped inside his room without another word to Lotho. But he was pleased with their meeting all the same. Chuckling to himself, he turned and made his way back down the stairs, almost whistling at his clever treachery, when a hand reached out of a dark corner and yanked him back.

Lotho nearly screamed but a hand covered him mouth and smothered out the noise. He was tossed roughly against the wall and found himself pinned there by a looming cloaked figure. “What exactly do you think you are doing?” a voice, deep and ominous snarled at him from beneath the shadow of his hood.

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Just having a bit of sport, a little joke!”

“You little idiot. I need him to reach the Shire as planned; you may have spoiled my fun.”  
Lotho shook his head, swallowing hard. “But I did like you asked! I brought the letters to ye, I’ve kept them from Bilbo! If you wanted the dwarf to come, why go through all the fuss?”

“Never you mind, why. That is for me to know. You had better hope you haven’t spoiled things for me, or things will go very poorly for you, I assure.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

The cloaked figure released him roughly and he slumped into the corner, panting hard. Then the other man was gone like a shadow crossing the moon, and Lotho could find no trace of him in the Pub.

***

Inside the room, Thorin felt as if the wind had been knocked out him. The idea that all of this might have been for naught, and that Bilbo might still hate him for the trespasses he had committed in Erebor frightened him and turned his heart to ice. It would not do to wait then; he would go to Bag End tonight, alone and beg forgiveness.

Dwalin would never allow it, and the wizard would have plenty of words of protest too. But Thorin did not care. He turned back out into the hall and crept along the walls, easily unseen by the eyes of the big folk, and crept alongside a hulking drunk who was too intoxicated to see him, and was out the door to the stables.

It was pouring rain, and the chill in the air was biting, but Thorin had little care as he mounted his pony and bolted off into the night.

The roads had turned to mud pits, and the rain was driving and wicked, pulling a veil of grey over an already dark night. Thorin drove onward, almost blindly. The animal beneath him brayed and whinnied in fear, but Thorin drove it on stubbornly. Then, quite abruptly, the river came rushing up to meet them, for it was pouring over the banks in the heavy rain and had made the bridge too slick to cross. Thorin’s pony threw him, and he went over the side with a cry and disappeared into the dark rushing water.

***


	5. You Found Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party arrangements are in full swing and Kili tries to make some peace with his situation, and something unexpected is discovered by a couple of little Hobbits.

 

 

 

***

               

               

                The morning after the storm dawned warm and calm. The green grass and leaves of the Shire glistened with heavy dew drops, and the flowers, that had just started to show their heads, bloomed and reached for the precious rays of sunlight, standing tall and glorious in the golden shine. Deer stirred in the wood, and rabbits came out to nibble on fresh clover.

                In the town square, things were also getting busily underway. The usually sleepy inhabitants of the Shire were setting up tables and benches, spreading clean linens and draping awnings over their little carts and market stands, streaming banners and hanging lanterns from the old Party Tree.

                Bilbo seemed to be running frantically from one stand to another, a long trail of parchment waving behind him, and his little red coat flapping behind him in the morning breeze, as he checked and double-checked all the preparations. Bofur and Kili tried to help, offering pointers about what Dwarves liked to eat and what kind of wine they preferred, but Bilbo insisted they stay out of the way and enjoy themselves. After all, they were guests too.

                This suited Bofur fine, as he appointed himself as “official taste tester”, and contented himself with sampling pies and breads and cheeses and whatever wine he could get ahold of. Kili was somewhat disinterested, however and would hardly crack a smile.

                “Don’t be cross,” Bofur nudged him through a mouthful of cheese, “it’s not our fault we had to go around the forest. Thorin will understand, and I’m sure Bilbo will forgive you.” He nudged the lad again at his little joke, but Kili did not seem amused.

                “I just want to go home.”

                “Really?” Bofur mused, tilting his head thoughtfully as he took another sip of wine. “Because it seems to me like your heart is closer to the trees and rivers than the rock and stone of Erebor.”

                Kili shot him a fiery look, but Bofur wasn’t moved. “Come now, lad. You have to forgive him, and yourself. Blood is thicker than water. Would you have not done the same if your positions were reversed?”

                “I would have forsaken all for him.”

                “Really? You would have forsaken your dear uncle, not to mention your brother, both of whom on more than one occasion risked life and limb for your sorry little arse? You would throw it all away, all for the love of one Elf, whose life span you could not hope to share. Your life is but a blink of an eye to Legolas Greenleaf.”

                Kili glowered, and Bofur did feel his pain, but knew it had to be dealt with in his own time. “You’re friends with the King,” Kili muttered to him. “Would you not persuade him?”

                “I am but an emissary, and I would not dare abuse that frail trust.”

                “Then of what use are you?” Kili snarled and stormed away. Bofur made to go after him but then thought better of it. Perhaps a walk in solitude would cool the young Dwarf’s hot temper.

 

 

                Kili wandered the little hills and twisting dirt paths for a time, a dark cloud over his head. The Hobbits shied away from him, and often hid behind their hedges at his approach. After a time, Kili realized what a terror he must seem like to these gentle folk and he breathed deep and let go of his anger for the moment. He heard the sound of children’s laughter then, and followed it, peeking down a hedge lined path to a field beyond, where he spotted little Frodo and several other children at play. All the other little Hobbit boys had heads of golden strawberry curls, except for one which was a bright brassy red. His laugh was the loudest. They were engaged in a little sword fight with one another, and Frodo seemed to be trying to pick a side, while the fourth little boy; rounder and meeker than the others sat on the bank by the water and ate blackberries from a basket.

                “Come on fellas! I want to go fishing!” he called to his friends.

                “Just a moment, Sam!” Frodo called back.

                “Yes! We’re fighting Goblins!” the golden haired lad called cheerfully.

                “My Uncle Bilbo fought Goblins!” Frodo stated proudly, puffing out his tiny chest, holding his little wooden sword aloft. “He said they are ugly and terrible, with gleaming yellow eyes and pointy gnashing teeth!”

                “Oh that’s just a story!” Pippin, the redhead said, waving his hand dismissively. Frodo frowned, but then Kili appeared around the bend. “Oh is it now?”

                The little Hobbits turned to stare at him and Frodo found himself trotting to stand at his side, tugging at the tails of his tunic. “This is Kili! He was there! He knows Uncle Bilbo is telling the truth, don’t you?”

                “Every blessed word, little master.” The dwarf nodded, and the children went all wide eyed and wondering. Even little Sam had stopped snacking and moved in closer to hear. Kili bent so that he could look them in the eye and smiled, “I’m pretty good at swords. Might I join your game?”

                “Oh yes, please!” Pippin and Merry exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement. Merry, the older one, gave his little cousin a push. “He’s on my side, Pip!”

                “No, he’s on my side!”

                “But Frodo is on your side!”

                “But Sam is on yours!”

                “Sam is no good, he’s too busy eating!”

                “Hey!” Sam’s lower lip quivered and he stood up as high as he could, though he was shorter than all three other boys and balled his little fists. “Who wants to fight nasty old Goblins anyway!”

                Kili parted the quarreling bunch and turned their attentions towards the little river that was bubbling behind them. “Perhaps fishing is a better idea for now. While we do that, I will tell you a tale of the Goblin King and how was slain by Gandalf.”

                “Oh yes, please, Kili, please!”

                And so the little troop gathered up their fishing poles and wooden swords and set further down the stream where the water was deeper and clearer. The little ones danced and ran about his legs as they walked, and Frodo stead-fastly head his hand, beaming up at him as though he were his own older brother. Kili smiled fondly at him, and the memory of his own childhood stung at him sharply, and he missed Fili fiercely then.

                Here the water widened into a larger pool that trickled far downhill and out of sight. The smell of warm and clean water brightened their spirits, and they sat themselves at the edge of a shaded sandy bank and began to dig for worms. Pippin ran off down the bank, and Frodo explained that he had a penchant for collecting river rocks, which collected a little further down the hill. Kili thought nothing of this and settled himself down beneath the tree while the boys continued their search.

                His mind drifted and he felt drowsy in the warm sunlight. He looked up at the leaves that shaded him and the bright yellow gleam that twinkled through them and made them thin and transparent. He almost thought he could smell the Elf then, that strange woodland scent that he carried in his skin and feel his breath on his cheek.

                He wished he could see him again, just one more time, and tell him all that was in his heart. Then, if they must again part ways, at least his mind would be sound and he would be able to reconcile it within himself in time. But this was torture, and it was turning him into something he hated. He just couldn’t get it out of his mind, that Legolas had so willingly and easily walked away from what they had shared. It felt like a betrayal, but Kili did not want to believe it so.

                A shout brought him back to himself then and he looked up worriedly. From downstream, just a little out of his sight, he heard the little boy named Pippin shouting frantically. Merry, his closest cousin, was off at a run before the others were quite on their feet. “I hope he hasn’t fallen in!”

                Kili hoped so too, for he was a rather wretched swimmer.  But as they came around past the thick brambles of blackberry bushes, he found a far more concerning sight. A dwarf lay on the bank of river, soaking wet and unmoving. Little Pippin was crouched beside him, eyes full of terror, not knowing which way to turn. “I don’t think he’s breathing! Merry! Merry!”

                Merry ran to him and pulled him away even as Kili vaulted over the stunned children and fell at the side of the body, turning it over hastily. Thorin’s dark hair hung wet and sandy in his face, but Kili could see that his eyes were closed and his skin pallid; lips blue tinged. “Oh Gods, no!” He shook the body violently for a moment, as if to wake it, and when that did not work he bent his face over his mouth in search of breathe. It was there; a thin, wheezing sound, but there all the same.  Kili pulled Thorin’s head into his lap and threw his cloak around him in an effort to warm him and then looked to the children. “Frodo, go and fetch your Uncle and Bofur! Quickly now, as fast as your feet can fly!”

                Frodo nodded resolutely and he took off at a sprint, and Sam followed after him, ever his shadow, leaving Merry and Pippin beside him on the bank.

 

***

 

                Back at the party, Bilbo was pacing, still trailing his list and fending off personal questions from his relatives that were not imperative to the task at hand. For creatures who were not generally very curious about the world around them; they did have a particular talent for gossip.

                Bilbo was finally beginning to feel at ease again, and the swell of hopefulness at seeing Thorin and his old friends, when a familiar voice tickled his ear and made him scowl. “There you are cousin!”

                The caramel haired hobbit turned with a sigh to face Lotho, his second cousin, as he came bounding up the lane past the apple cart, from which he had stolen a pair of apples. He threw one to Bilbo, who caught it deftly. “Good morning, cousin.” He greeted cheerlessly. “I really haven’t the time to chat, I’m afraid, I’m sure you heard that we have visitors arriving presently and there is much to do.”

                “Ah, yes, your old Dwarf companions! I’m sure you’re very excited. Too bad they didn’t give more notice, or we might have been able to do things up properly for them, instead of throwing together whatever party things were just lying around…” Bilbo furrowed his  brow and bristled like a porcupine, but Lotho pretended not to notice. “Still, I suppose it will do for a Dwarf King.”

                “You’ve got some nerve,” Bilbo spat then, unable to help himself. The stress of the preparations had worn his patience a little too thin. “If you can’t be of help, then be off with you. I’ve no time for this rubbish.”

                “I’m sorry,” Lotho amended, a sweetly as he could for there was little sweetness in him. “I didn’t mean to offend. I did come to help, after all. Mother is very excited to be meeting a real King and all.”

                “I’m sure she is,” Bilbo muttered. “If you want to be of use, help them gathering wood for the bon fires and make sure there are enough barrels of wine. _That_ I would appreciate.”

                Lotho nodded, but hadn’t really heard at all. “You know, I heard there was some trouble up in Brie last night. Weren’t you Dwarf friends coming by that road?”

                This made Bilbo give pause then, for it was such a strange thing to hear. He looked Lotho over pensively, staring past his ugly, pock-marked and piggish face into his eyes. There was something there, an unsavory mischief that chilled the other Hobbit and made him wish he had never said good morning at all.  But before Bilbo could ask the meaning of his words, there was a shrill shout from the hill behind him.

                “Uncle! Uncle!”

                Bilbo whirled, heart immediately in his throat as he saw Frodo running towards him. The boy crashed into him and he held him back. “What’s wrong, are you alright?”

                “It’s Mr. Kili! He found another dwarf down by the river!” Frodo rasped, hardly able to get enough breath to fill his little lungs.

                “He might be dead!” Sam, who came puffing after him, exclaimed. The crowd around them looked up, as Bilbo lifted Frodo in his arms and took off at a run, leaving everyone else behind. Blood rushed in his ears and he could think only one thing; _“Please, please, please don’t let it be him!”_

                But the Gods were not kind, and Bilbo’s heart all but stopped when he saw Kili sitting on in the grass with Thorin cradled in his lap. The world was crashing down around him then. He nearly dropped Frodo then, for the boy had barely gotten his feet before Bilbo was running off again, a scream tearing out of his throat.

                And just like that it was the battlefield all over again, with all its blood and ruin and the terrible screams and moans of the dying, and that icy fear that had swallowed him whole once before. The thought that his love, this strange dwarf whom had come into his life so suddenly, would leave it just the same and he would be forever lost.

                What happened next was a blur for the Hobbit. He took hold of Thorin and wrapped himself around him wholly, though Kili tugged and pulled at him and crowd gathered and voices shouted and beckoned to one another. Somehow, they got him up and were back at Bag End.

 

 

                Thorin was alive, and all things considered not too badly off. The greatest danger now was how desperately cold he was, and they went to great lengths to warm him again. They undressed him completely and wrapped him in layers and layers of blankets, and Bilbo tucked two hot water bottles under him for good measure.

                Kili watched the Hobbit labor over his uncle with such care and devotion, that he did not dare disrupt or disturb him. His heart ached for Bilbo and he felt a pang of remorse for all the terrible things he had said out of his own grief. Never once did he really doubt Bilbo’s love of Thorin. It was a love that warmed even the coldest heart, and had managed to turn it from madness and despair. Seeing this made him realize that he could not continue on the way he had, in bitterness, and that he must put those feelings aside now and look ahead to brighter days.

                He came to stand beside Bilbo at the edge of the bed and hesitantly touched his shoulder. “You did well. He’ll be alright now, don’t worry.”

                Bilbo just blinked at him for a moment and then nodded silently. “Forgive me, for what I said before. You have always been better to us than we deserve, and we are all in your debt. You have been sorely missed.”

              “That is kind of you,” Bilbo managed, but his voice was tight and wavering. Without reserve, the young dwarf prince embraced him then, tight as he could. Bilbo was started and tried for a moment to break free. Tears welled in his eyes and despite his blinking them away, they overcame him and he fell against the other Dwarf and wept loud and long, full shudders racking his body. Kili held him fast and close and let him have his tears. Other Hobbits might not have understood; they had not seen war and death before and did not understand the nightmares and terrors that come from such things. But Kili did.

              It seemed a long time before either let go and looked away from each other, composing themselves and drying their eyes. “Look at us, like a bunch of old ninnies,” Kili laughed, and Bilbo smiled for the sound of it.

             “Indeed, your uncle would be embarrassed if he saw.” He turned back to the King then and touched his hand. “How, I wonder, could he have ended up in the river. Surely he wasn’t traveling alone?”

              Kili shook his head, “Never. Dwalin would never allow it. He’s too protective and too stubborn.”

              “Ah, well, that is a trait your uncle has in spades as well.”

                A knock came upon the door, and they heard Bofur answer it from beyond the bedroom. There was a shout, followed by a wizened old voice calling; “He’s here! He’s in here lads!” There was a rumbling then that made them both look up, and suddenly the doorway was filled with the faces of Gandalf the Grey, Dwalin, and Dori, all looking very concerned. The wizard spotted Thorin upon the bed and exhaled deeply. “Oh thank goodness,” he said as he leaned on his staff.

                Dwalin plowed past them and was at Thorin’s side, taking his pulse and looking him over for wounds. “I could kill ‘im, I really could! The damn fool! Riding off on his own in the dark like that!” His words were harsh but anyone could see that he was relieved to find his longtime companion alive and well.

                Bilbo found his previously quiet Hobbit Hole filled with the familiar raucous sound of Dwarves, and he smiled in spite of himself and met all their badgering and questioning and shouts with a dazed grin. Then he felt fingers curl faintly around his.

                He turned and saw Thorin looking up at him from beneath the heavy pile of blankets. At first, the dwarf didn’t seem to fully recognize him, but as Bilbo moved closer a light returned to his eyes and he managed a smile. He struggled from beneath the covers and brought his hands to the Hobbit’s face and clasped him close. “You found me.”

                Bilbo nodded, the room had gone quiet around him, “I always will.” He kissed him, warm and soft and laid his head against his.

***


	6. Deals in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotho has a meeting with his mysterious benefactor and learns a ghastly secret. Far away, Fili awakens to a world of horrors in the lair of the new Goblin Chief, who is not as he appears.

 

***

 

                Between bouts grumbling and complaints; for no Hobbit liked to be rushed needlessly, there were babbles of confusion and excitement and rumors. Especially rumors. How _had_ the great King Under the Mountain ended up washed up on the riverbed like that? Had he met some trouble upon the road? A lot of questions were being asked. Uncomfortable questions.

                Lotho paced his floor nervously, trying his best to ignore his parents gossiping.

                “How is it, do you suppose, that he ended up that way?” Lobellia asked her husband as she dug into her meat pie.

Her husband, Otho, a great lump of Hobbit with a mean, sour face and waning hairline grumbled into his soup, “I don’t know. Seems to me like he might have come across some burglars on the road. Highway men. You know the sort, they’re always wandering about on the road to and from Brie after dark. That’s why I never travel that away alone at night.”

“But isn’t he some great warrior, this King? A few muggers in the dark shouldn’t have been a problem for the likes of a Dwarf, great brutes they are.”

“Any King that associates himself with Bilbo Baggins cannot be all that grand, now can he?” Otho muttered and laughed a little at himself. “Well at any rate, I hope they didn’t rob him of all his gold. I’ll be wanting payment for my share of the goods out there in  the square, and more for my time! I’m an old man, after all, I don’t like being put out!”

“Oh be quiet, both of you!” Lotho found himself snapping at them, and they turned and looked at their son with a sense of shock and ire. His father kicked at him, but Lotho scurried away.

“What are you on about?” Otho snarled at him. “All you do is sulk about. It’s unbecoming. If you had any sense in that head of yours, you’d be up there right now, seeing if there was anything you could do for the lot of them. Get in good with the Dwarves, and you might be rewarded.”

Lotho muttered something under his breath and grabbed his jacket before slinking out of the door. He waited until he had passed the hedge at the end of the walk before taking off across the fields, leaping over little fences and cutting across gardens until he had reached the main road that led away from the town. Even here, he was careful to walk among the grass and not leave any trace of himself. He looked over his shoulder repeatedly to make sure he was not being followed.

About a quarter mile along the road he turned and headed directly into the wood. He walked among the tall trees and the thick pines until he came to a small rocky clearing upon a hill which slopped down a pebbly hill and towards the river again. Here, a cloaked and hooded figure awaited, sitting upon a fallen tree trunk, leaning upon a tall staff.  Lotho hesitated at his back, almost wishing he could turn around and leave now before he was noticed; but the figure spoke to him then.

“The King lives then?”

“Yes. He must have gotten lost and fell into the river last night. But he’s alright now, I swear it!”  He twisted his sweaty palms nervously. “How was I supposed to know he’d go and do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because you are a stupid thing yourself,” the cloaked man replied and there was a cruel little chuckle behind his words that made Lotho seethe silently. But he was far more afraid of this man than he was insulted. “It is fortunate for you then, that this did not disrupt my plans. I have buyers, you know, who would be sorely disappointed if I were unable to uphold my end of the arrangement. Though I’m sure they’d be happy to bring their complaints directly to the Halfling who bungled their prize.”

Lotho paled and said nothing for a moment, looking small and pitiful. The cloaked man stood and paced for a bit, his gnarled hand drumming each thin, knotted finger against the smooth length of black wood in his hands. “It occurs to me that this might provide an unforeseen advantage. A distracted Hobbit will be easier to trick.”  He turned and glared at Lotho beneath the shadow of his hood. “You must do all you can to get close to him now, your cousin, and see what it is you can learn from him. Ask him about the Misty Mountains and what he encountered there.”

“And what might he tell me, my lord, that I need know? I have heard many tales of these adventures before, about loathsome Goblins and trolls. But they are stupid, vile things, and they do not come so far down the mountain to bother us here. Thank goodness for that.”

                “There has been a great upheaval in the old mountains since the coming of the dwarves and wizard. Where they were once content to pick off unwary travelers and wildlings and whatever animals that unwisely wandered into their secret caves; they are now bloodthirsty and always ready for war. The Dwarves slew many of them in the great Battle of Five Armies. They want revenge.”

“Rightly so, I guess. If they wanted the Dwarves, why not take them on the road? Why bother having them come here at all?”

“They are making their own plans, as I am mine. We simply have a mutual interest.”

“But what has that got to do with me??” Lotho asked impertinently, folding his arms across his chest. The cloaked man cocked his head curiously; “You, little one?”

“You promised me, that if I brought you those letters, if I kept an eye on my cousin and his comings and goings that there’d be something in it for me. What do I care about dwarves and goblins?”

The man chuckled low in his throat and it was like an icy wind came and blew down Lotho’s back and chilled him, and he felt less confident then and bowed his head. “All I want is my fair share.”

“Indeed. And you shall have it, my little friend, when I have what I require. My sources have spoken to me a dark, secretive creature, which dwelt in the mountains below their caves; that would slink and slither in the night, muttering to itself.  After the Dwarves came, the thing screamed and raved for days, calling out for a “precious”.”

                “What could that mean?”

                “Any number of things, I suppose. No doubt some old magic relic, pillaged many years ago and forgotten about amongst the Goblin hoard. They keep little treasures, you know, trinkets and trophies from the people they murder. And a great many people they’ve killed in their long, wicked days, I assure you.” he paused and grasped his staff tightly and for a moment did not speak at all. Lotho fidgeted in the silence. “I want you to learn from your cousin, what was done with this ‘precious’. If I am right, he will have the thing somewhere in his home.”

                “If I only knew what it was you were looking for sir, I could simply steal it.”

                The cloaked figure laughed. “Oh, you think yourself so very clever do you? How very small minded Halflings are. It is not so simple a thing.” He drew his black robes tighter about his frail form and turned as if to leave. “You have two days time to learn your cousins’ secrets.”

                “And then, you’ll keep your promise? You’ll give me my reward? I won’t be cheated, you know.”

                “Of course not, Master Lotho.”

                Lotho tingled with excitement, then added slowly. “And your, um, _friends_ …they’ll leave my family and my friends be? They won’t harm them, will they?”

                “You shall have to take that up with them.” He turned and began to walk down the hill, and Lotho followed at length. As they came to the bottom, which was rocky and cold and filled little caverns beneath the hills where men once mined for ore and iron and children sometimes played on summer eves, they found a large round natural opening in the hill side beneath a little waterfall. Here Lotho’s mysterious compatriot bowed his head and entered, and the Hobbit followed, though he shivered through and through. The cave was wide and the floor was smooth from much coming and going. Some of remnants of mine work remained; abandoned carts and pick-axes from many years ago. Even a lantern or two still dangled, dusty and unused from nails in the walls.

                They walked a little ways, and the light from the man’s staff glowed faintly in the dark, leading them on through the smooth sloping curves of the tunnels. They became thinner and narrower by and by, until Lotho felt like the earth was swallowing him whole and he wanted to run back home and lock the door behind himself. But his greed, as much as curiosity, drove him onward. Here they came to what seemed to be a dead end. The man raised his staff and tapped three times upon the stone in a triangle shape. There was the loud scraping of rock then, and to Lotho’s amazement a door appeared. They stepped through out onto a narrow ledge. A stairway curved down to their left, and came to an end at a bottom of a huge oval shaped cavern, which had once been a large reservoir of water.  Now, however, it served a very different purpose.

                Here, to Lotho’s great and terrible shock, were the makings of a Goblin city. They had been laboring for weeks it seemed, undetected, building their crude homes of rock and salvaged wood and metals, creating all manner of dangerous looking weaponry; in their forges, and their fires burned bright and angry, casting long shadows on the ceiling and walls.

                In sheer terror, the Hobbit grasped the man’s black cloak, but his companion did nothing comfort him, simply surveying the work below. “They’re here!” he hissed at him. “How have they come here?!”

                “They here, and soon they will be everywhere. Industrious things, don’t you think? See what they make with the iron and steel they have created. Perhaps their designs are crude, but their vigor for creating new forms of death and torment is nothing short of inspiring.”

                “But…we have no quarrel with them!”

                “And you won’t, so long as you do not interfere with their plans.” He turned then, and for the first time Lotho got a real glimpse of the face beneath the hood. He was an old man, with hard eyes and a narrow nose and a bitter look about him. “Now go back to your hole, and breath a word of this to no one. But remember what I have told you; if you fail to find what Bilbo Baggins stole from the creature, I will be very cross.”

                Lotho only nodded and turned and ran back the way he came as fast as his clumsy, fat little legs would carry him.

 

***

 

                Fili woke from a black, dreamless sleep to the feeling of cold rock beneath him and metal biting at his skin. He was hot and thirsty and ached from head to toe as if he had been beaten with a club, and his mouth tasted of blood.

                He opened an eye warily and peered around him; only to find he could not make sense of what he was seeing. Everything was a terrible, flickering red and black blur with shadows moving about in the haze and endless drumming ringing in his ears. By and by his vision cleared, and he came to recognize that he was in shackled to a wall inside a carved cell, with barbed bits of jagged rusty iron serving as prison barbs.

                There was a heckling sound, an awful, high pitched noise that grated on his frayed nerves and made him lift his head a little higher. He also bore a iron collar around his neck, which pinched and bit at him and made him bleed. He winced and clenched his teeth, and looked upon the face of a loathsome little imp, who was throwing rocks at him from beyond the bars and laughing about it.

                He made to lift himself and strike out at him, but his legs would not lift him more than a few inches before falling again and he let himself dangle between his bonds for a moment before setting his eyes on the little monster and snarling; “Come here you little pustule and I’ll give you a quick death, I will, I’ll beat your brains in with my foot!”

                The little Goblin squealed and scurried away a moment in fright, only to come back and redouble his efforts, throwing more stones, which pelted Fili’s bare skin and bruised and cut him. In sheer fury he willed himself up and kicked out at the little beast again, this time managing to strike out at him between the gaps in the bars and knock him flat. It screeched and went away crying. It was a little satisfaction, but it gave him some hope that he might defend himself, prisoner though he was. “You tell your master there’s more where that came from!”

                He closed his eyes again then and tried to recall what had happened, but he could remember little after he’d been dragged from the field beyond the forest. He remembered Tauriel and Legolas, and he swallowed dryly and tasted fresh blood at the back his throat again. Whatever anger he had was replaced with a new fear; what strength did these rabble of Goblin scum have that they could force Elven warriors to betray their friends? None had been so bold before, not since Azog and his degenerate offspring had been slain on the fields of battle. What was this new devilry?

                There was the sound of chains and keys jingling and heavy, foul breathing that grunted and strained. Fili looked to the bars and found another pair of yellow eyes looking back at him from sunken sockets. This Goblin looked more like the ones he had encountered in the mountain pass; a pale, ugly pink think with warts and tumors plaguing it’s twisted hunched shape. It was no Orc, no devil of that nature. But it didn’t seem to fear him either.

                “The dwarfling wakes, does he? Good, good. Chief Tagnox wants words with you.”

                Fili drew himself up, all pride and fury, bleeding though he was, and the Goblin cowered from the look in his eyes. “I am no ‘dwarfling’. I am Fili, son of Ravali, heir of Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain! Bring your chief if you will. Tell him I would look upon the face that dares to imprison me.”

                A rougher, deeper voice answered; “Be careful what you wish for, young prince.” Another Goblin stepped into the light then, and Fili expected it to look like the one he had encountered on the field, but was surprised. This Goblin was taller than the others, but not the towering abomination that had been the former “Great Goblin”, nor even so tall as Azog. He was nearly as tall as Bard, and, as he squinted in the dim flickering light of the torches, he looked more like a man than a Goblin. He was not bent and twisted as they were, but his eyes were as yellow and his teeth as sharp. He was strong built and covered in blood colored war paint smeared across his chest and arms and thighs. His ears were long and pointed, dotted by many terrible spiked piercings, and stood strangely upon his toes as if he were ever ready to pounce on something. His hands were too long, and his fingers were knotted and clawed like with black, ragged nails. He eyed Fili evenly. “It was your brother I had been expecting,” he spoke again, and Fili was startled by the intelligence he was met with, and more so by the statement itself.

                “Who are you? _What_ are you?”

                Chieftain Tagnox smiled at him, and his grin was a horrible thing to behold, for his teeth looked blood stained. “Not what you were expecting, little prince? That is good, I like to make an impression. You may have guessed I am not as my brothers,” he looked to his mutated rabble of followers and they stared proudly up at him, waving their spears and knives and pikes. “I am something…new.”

                “You look like the bastard son of Orc to me.” Fili answered, and the rabble outside hissed and screeched at him until he thought his ears would bleed.

                “You have fire, like your uncle. I am…eager…to meet him. I would so love to use his head as a footstool.”

                “He’ll have yours on a pike!” Fili spat back and strained as hard as he might against his bonds so that he could see Tagnox better. “What do you want with my brother?”

                Tagnox paused and studied him and his eyes peering back at him was worse to Fili than his terrible voice or his strange figure. It was as if he were peering into his thoughts, searching there for something to steal. “I had heard tales that he was once in love with an Elf Prince, and so I took the pretty little thing from his forest. But I caught a different prey instead. No matter to me; you all bleed the same.”

                “The Elves of Mirkwood will take vengeance on you for that trespass, I assure you. And they are nothing to be trifled with. Or have you forgotten your slain brothers at their hands?”

                “I will have Elf flesh in good time.” He pointed a clawed hand at Fili and reached through the bars to scratch him painfully across the chest. “It’s Dwarf blood I have a thirst for today.”

                “Then take it if you can.”

                “So eager for death. Be patient, little prince. You have not served your purpose yet.” Tagnox turned to walk away on his strange bowed legs, but Fili called back; “He won’t come for me. My Uncle would not risk an entire kingdom for the life of one citizen, not even his own kin. I promise you that.”

                Tagnox smiled at him again. “I will take that wager. And I do not know what will break your soft little heart first; if you are wrong…or if you are right.”

 

***


	7. The Empty Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard comes to Erebor in search of answers. Legolas comes to his home in the dead of night with new information, and a plan.

 

 

                Dusk was falling on another day. Balin, sat in the empty throne room, head in his hands, surrounded by eerie silence, gazing at empty chairs and crowns with no head to bear them. News had come the day before of what happened in the fields beyond the forest edge. Many patrols had gone out in search of Fili, but as of yet, none had returned successfully.

                Word had been sent already to the Shire, but it would not reach Thorin for days, as it was now no longer safe to travel over the mountain on foot, and birds would have to carry the message to Lord Elrond on the other side to be carried onward, if they reached him at all.

                “Thrain, I have failed you all over again,” he said to silence, wondering if the old king’s spirit could hear him. “I could not keep you safe, and now I have failed your son, and grandsons. Help me then, if you hear me. Tell me what to do!” He dabbed at the moisture at the corners of his eyes with his sleeve and shook his hands up to the high carven ceiling, as if some divine answer would come. But he knew better. From somewhere behind him, he heard Ori shuffling nervously, for he had come accustomed to the sound of his footstep.

                “Come in lad, what is it? Have you had word from the patrols?” he asked, lifting himself from his knees and turning to greet the younger dwarf. Ori shook his head, “No, I haven’t. But, Bard has come to speak with you. I told him that it might not be a good time, but he’s very worried about Fili and I—“

                Balin raised a hand to hush him as he drew closer and patted his shoulder. “Where is he? I’ll settle him.”

                He sounded tired and stiff with the idea, as if Bard were a salesman knocking at the door on the day of a funeral. Ori spoke up again; “He does love him, you know. He truly does, Mr. Balin. Don’t be hard on him, don’t send him away. Fili wouldn’t like it.”

                The white haired dwarf stared at the boy thoughtfully for a moment, then gave a nod and continued on, Ori shuffling along in front of him to lead the way. There was no laughter in the Halls of Erebor these days, no songs nor tales of great deeds. The world was a frightening and uncertain place without their King, and with a new unseen threat that may lay just at their doorstep.

                The Bowman was waiting for them in one of the great corridors, and he was as restless and tense as a tethered horse before a thunderstorm. He had paced in circles before the guards at the door, and at the sight of Balin and Ori he stormed ahead. “Well? What news have you? Surely something must have turned up by now, he couldn’t have vanished into thin air!” he shouted at them.

                “He did not vanish,” Balin corrected him evenly. “He was taken, apparently, by the goblin horde. The Elves were forced to play part in, and I’ll have an answer from them about that soon enough. If only Bofur hadn’t gone along with Thorin, we might have them sooner.”

                “Damn the Elves, where the hell is Fili!?” Bard exploded then as his voice echoed in the high halls around him until the dwarf’s name could be heard throughout its long corridors. Balin put his hands upon the man’s shivering arms and attempted to calm him. Bard dropped to his knees, partly out of respect and partly out of exhaustion and bowed his head apologetically. “Forgive me, I know I speak out of turn. But I am a man undone; he is dear to me. Please…if you know anything, good or ill, speak it now. Do not torture me with uncertainty.”

                “All I know is that they wanted to take one of the boys hostage to draw out Thorin, if they could not get him themselves. Why they are doing this now, I have no answers.”

                Bard nodded, doing his best to remain calm when he felt so very helpless. “And you are sure the Elves did not keep any details from you? Some clue they may be withholding?”

                “I have asked as much, but no. I believe they were as much a victim in the matter as we are, though why the goblins should choose to use them to get to us is beyond me. Elves have nearly a fiercer hatred of them than we do.”

                Bard nodded in agreement then paused; “What of Kili? Do you know that he is safe?”

                “I can only assume.”

                “Perhaps they meant to take him, which would explain their choice in kidnaping Thrandruil’s son. Taking the prince’s lover would surely draw him out.”

                “It may have been so, but it was for naught. Kili would surely would have reached the Shire by now.”

                “Obviously the Goblins don’t know that. They don’t know that the throne of Erebor sits empty, and that is a distinct advantage. They think Thorin will surrender himself, meaning that they must not yet possess the power to face his army, or ours in open combat. Makes sense, after we nearly wiped them out.”

                “Goblins aren’t sensible creatures, Bard. They are monsters, barbarians at best.” Balin answered firmly.  Bard nodded, “Yes, but even barbarians have some sense of strategy.”

                But Balin wasn’t really listening anymore. He looked worriedly upon the great doors and their scars made by claws and spears and swords from so many enemies. Erebor was a stronghold, the Goblins could not hope to breech it. Instead, they must be planning on drawing the Dwarves out, picking them off one by one. It was a feeble plan, a cowards plan.

                “What will happen to Fili when Thorin does not come to claim him?” Bard asked, though he already knew the answer. “Something must be done, and done quickly!”

                “And what would you have me do, bowman?” the dwarf retorted, somewhat rudely. Bard shook his head, “I ask you to do as your king would do. And if you will not…then I will do what I must.”

                “Don’t bring the men of Dale into this,” Balin warned. “Your army is frail at best, don’t test it further! This is a matter for dwarves to settle, let it be!”

                Bard only replied; “Have you never loved something fiercely enough that you could not abide its loss?”

                “I have. And I have lost it all the same, and you have children to think about! Fili is ours, leave him to us. Go home to your family.”

                The bowman turned and stormed away, leaving his friends in his wake, sorry to see him go and yet worse for his company. Ori looked to his friend again; “You know he’s going to go after him alone.”

                “Yes, I do. I knew it when he came in.”

                “But…you have to stop him!”

                “He’s not my problem, Ori. Let the men of Dale and Laketown do what they will. If he finds Fili, then we will be at his back. If not, then it will be left to us to pick up the pieces.”

                Ori stared at him, “You don’t think he’s coming back. You think he’s already dead.”

                “I didn’t say that.”

                Ori shook his head, eyes welling and all but ran from Balin’s side. “Ori! Ori, wait!” he called, but the young scribe did not answer him. He stood there feeling ashamed of his pessimism and his doubt, for he had come through this family with so much already. But perhaps it was simply too much. He was old, and his heart could take no more loss. It was almost easier not to hope, not to believe that light could shine again, but to prepare for the long night instead. He dismissed the guards and he was alone again, with only the ghosts of the old Kings at his side.

 

***

                Bard returned to his home under the veil of a starless night. There he found his children waiting for him, worried. “Anything, Papa?” his son asked as he entered the room. The dark haired man sighed and lowered his coat and sunk upon a chair by the fire. “No, my boy. There has been no word. Nor any sign of Goblins,” he said to his daughters, especially the youngest who shivered in her bed and drew the blankets up closer around herself.

                Sigrid put her arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek and laid her head against his, “Fili will come back to us, won’t he, Papa? Thorin and Kili wouldn’t leave him there to die. I just know they wouldn’t.”

                “Of course they won’t.” her brother replied. “They’ll rescue him, and they’ll kill those little blighters too. I wish I could be there.”

                “Be very careful what you wish for,” Bard warned, and Bain lowered his eyes. His father sighed and softened his tone, touching the boy’s arm. “I don’t mean to be cross, you are young yet and I sometimes forget. But I will not keep the truth from you; I do not know that Thorin will be able to intervene in these matters, for he had gone west to see Bilbo.”

                “What about Kili? Or Mr. Dwalin?”  Tilda asked from beneath the shelter of her blankets. Bard shook his head, but spared her the truth.  He stood and went to her side, hugging and kissing her before tucking her back into her bed. “No more fears tonight. Fili has our love to give him strength, and the love of his family and friends. The Dwarves of Erebor take care of their kin, that I know. We will see our dear friend again.”

                There came a knock upon the door then that made Sigrid jump and Bain rise nervously from his chair. Bard nodded for them to be still and made his way towards the door. He tried to peer through the peep hole but could not quite make out the shape of the man on the other side. Then a familiar voice spoke to him; “Bard,”

                The voice was weaker than he remembered, but its canter was the same. Bard opened the door to find himself face to face with Legolas Greenleaf, whos fair face and fierce eyes he had not seen since that bloody day many seasons ago. It was not as fair as it had once been; the Elf had seen abuse of late for his face was marred with several deep scratches that were in no hurry to heal, and his eyes seemed strange and clouded, not clear and bright as they once been. His hair hung in tatters, and his arms bore heavy bandaging.

                “Legolas,” The man said at length, looking his strange visitor over with both concern and caution. “You look like hell.”

                The Elf almost smiled at him and made his way inside. Bard noted that he walked with a limp now and that his gait was slow. He stumbled just a little and Bard bent to help him; but the Elf was proud and waved him off. With great effort, he lowered himself into a chair. The bowman stared at him. “How did you get here? You should be in your houses of healing, resting.”

                “No healer can help me. These wounds are of the flesh and will not linger forever. I have deeper pains,” Legolas answered and looked to the man frankly. “The same I imagine you harbor.”

                The dark haired man regarded the Elf with a cool eye and folded his arms angrily. “Tell me why I should not strike you now? You come into my home so easily after what your people have done?”

                “Yours would do no less. Or perhaps they would, the loyalties of men are so fickle.” Legolas retorted, and Bard made to strike him, but the elf caught his hand and held it. “You think I have no remorse for what happened? I would have rather perished than bring this upon the people we love. You know that I speak true, or do my eyes lie?” he bellowed and flung Bard back before sinking back into the chair with exhaustion.

                They remained in silence for a moment and then Bard shooed his children back to their beds and closed the door behind them. Legolas bowed his head; “Forgive me. I did not mean to behave so in front of them.”

                “They have seen worse, I promise you.” He answered in kind and came to sit beside him, rooting about on his cluttered table top for something to help his companion. Legolas waved him off again, but Bard caught his wrist and held fast. “You are my friend, and you are injured. Allow me to help.”

                The prince allowed his pride to cease and he nodded, closing his eyes gratefully. “You are in a bad way, you should not have come here. Your father will be cross, and we cannot afford any more quarrels with him.”

                “He has other concerns. This quest is my own, I am responsible, as you said.”

                “I spoke out of anger. You are as much a victim as Fili.”

                Legolas did not seem convinced; “I came to warn you. I came to you, because I know what you will do now that Fili is in danger. It is the same I feel for his brother. They are planning something, these Goblin filth, something more terrible than before. They are different, they do not behave as they once did. Something is guiding their actions.”

                “Orcs?”

                “Something greater. Orcs will not waste their time with Goblins if they can avoid it, they are lesser kin. This is something of terrible intelligence. I don’t recall much after I was taken. They ambushed me on patrol and poisoned me with something that kept me sick and stupid. But I remember shadows and words between the darkness…” He winced and rubbed his head, trying to recall and Bard rubbed salve into his hurts. “’They are digging’, they said. Building some sort of ‘great tunnel’. To where, I can’t imagine. “

                Bard nodded, mulling it over in his mind. “Was there anything else? Anything at all?”

                “They called their new chief “Tagnox”, and said at times that he had been at talks with the wizard in the woods. But…I cannot tell now if that was dreamed or not. I know of no wizard that would parlay with Goblins, for they fear their magic. But there was something else, something they kept repeating…’the nest is empty’.”

                “’The nest is empty’?” Bard repeated. “What nonsense is that?”

                “I pray I do not know.” And here Legolas looked lost and he appeared more mortal to Bard then than he ever had, and it frightened the man. “You did well,” he consoled. “Tomorrow we will go and talk to Balin and the others of this. Perhaps they have some insight.”

                Legolas did not seem certain however; “I fear we cannot wait for the actions of the Dwarves. They must think of their kingdom and without Thorin to lead them, I fear that they will wait too long to save Fili, and whatever monstrous thing these scum have planned will go unchecked.”

                “What would you do?”

                “Tauriel tells me I am mad, but I must do what I feel is right. It’s Thorin their Chief wants, we must go and see that he does not get him.”

                “Go West? It is a week’s ride and more, and we cannot go through the mountains now.” Bard replied. But Legolas did not look so sure; “Do you know of the Old Ford?”

                “The river that runs from the mountains and through your forest and fills our lakes, of course I know it.” He answered.

                “There is a divergent stream about ten miles north of there, which I have been told, flows down through secret caves through the mountains that even the Goblins do not know about. If we are swift, we could take these waters to their destination beyond Rivendell. From there I’m sure Lord Elrond will aid us with whatever we need.”

                Bard thought this over for a time, and there was no sound but the hissing of the coals on the fire and the faint crackle of wood. At length, Bard spoke; “This is farther than I have ever traveled. I do not know the wilds well enough to manage alone. Are you fit enough for travel, my friend? I would not see further injury to you for my sake.”

                “I will be fine,” Legolas promised and he did seem sure. “Will your children abide such a long absence? I need not tell you how dangerous the road might be.”

                “I have friends who will look in on them, and Bain and Sigrid are old enough to manage the house without me. Still, I would like till dawn to say my goodbyes.”

                “Of course.” Legolas nodded and stood again, looking better for the short rest. “I will meet you at the mouth of the river at dawn. We travel light, and do not speak of this to anyone else.  I fear that unsavory eyes could be watching from anywhere, and we haven’t time to lose.”

                Bard nodded and walked him to the door and lead him out onto the docks, watching the windows and doors that surrounded them on either side to make sure that no one was spying from behind their shutters.

                “Legolas,” Bard said then, just as the Elf was about to mount his horse. “He still loves you. Fili has spoke much of this to me. He will be glad to see you again.”

                The Elf smiled kindly at him and nodded as he easily mounted his tall horse and took the reins in his hands; “Let us go and bring back our dwarves, my friend, and then we shall have drinks, you and I, and count our blessings to be so loved.”

                Bard chuckled as the Elf rode off into the night, but his good humor vanished with him, for the task ahead was daunting and dangerous, and while he went to claim back one piece of his heart, he must leave three others behind, unguarded.       

               

***


	8. A Modest Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party finally gets underway in the Shire and Bilbo and Thorin at last have a chance to catch up. Meanwhile, Gandalf makes some inquires about the dubious activities of Lotho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Unashamed gooey Bagginshield fluff in this chapter! And my weakness for Thorin as a doting father figure is painfully revealed.

 

****

 

                Thorin was kept abed all that day and brought hot tea and soup by Bilbo, and fussed and pawed over with many questions put to him, most of which he waved off with a grunt or a groan until it was decided what he really needed was a bit of quiet.

                Alone in the bedroom, the King attempted sleep with little success or desire, for his mind was turning over at great speed with many heavy thoughts. It was only the quiet sound of the wizard clearing his throat that made him realize that he was being watched.

                “You are a very bad pretender, Thorin Oakenshield.” Gandalf said with a soft smile and amusement in his voice. Thorin sat up and nodded in agreement, “A King must do what he can to get a bit of quiet. But you are never fooled, are you grey beard?”

                “Wizards rarely are.” He answered. Thorin pulled himself from the bed and looked about for some dry clothes, since his had been hung out to dry. Outside the little circular window, he could hear children playing in the fields and smell sweet fruits from the trees and the fragrance of clover and dandelions and spring tulips. He was used to cold, fresh mountain air and the dampness of snow, moss and fir trees. The smells of the Shire were heavy and intoxicating to him. “Where is Bilbo?”

                “Fussing in the kitchen, last I saw, he does have a great many mouths to feed.”

                Thorin nodded and at last found a tunic that he could fit into and a pair of breeches and boots. He doubted they were Bilbo’s, for they were large enough to accommodate the Dwarf’s thick build, and appeared to be older and unused. “If you would be so inclined, would you go and see if you can’t distract the rest of my company for a time with your fireworks? For I much desire a moment alone with Bilbo.”

                “Of course. You two have a lot of catching up to do.” The grey wizard nodded, standing up, though he had to stoop slightly to keep his head from touching the ceiling. “But I cannot tarry long with them, for I have business of my own to attend to.”

                Thorin cocked a dark eyebrow at this and smirked a little, “Oh, have you? Have you spies even here?”

                “Not spies, your majesty. Simply friends, whom like to pass the time by telling me of their comings and goings and anything else that might be interesting.”

                “Indeed,” Thorin nodded. With that the wizard excused himself and Thorin lingered alone in the room, waiting. Eventually he heard a faint little tap on the door and he turned and smiled as Bilbo entered pensively, carrying a hot cup of tea. “Are you alright? Gandalf said you needed something. What are you doing out of be—“ Before Bilbo could finish his questions Thorin had crossed the room to him and swept him up in a firm embrace, knocking the tea to the floor, and kissed his passionately. Bilbo melted and forgot all about his questions and even the nagging need to clean up the spill.  It seemed an age before either came up for air, and when they did at last, Thorin laid his head against Bilbo’s and spoke; “Do not ever leave my side again, Bilbo Baggins, for I am surely lost without you.”

                Bilbo answered him with another kiss and embraced him as tightly as he dared. He would have liked nothing better than to have knocked Thorin down on the bed and ridden him roughly until the whole Shire was shaking with the sound of their screams, but it was not good manners to do so with a house full of guests.

                Eventually they came to sit together upon the edge of the bed, Bilbo looking him over thoroughly. “Are you wearing my father’s old clothes?”

                “I suppose. You had robbed me of mine, burglar. Or would you simply have me sitting naked on your furniture?”

                “I would have you naked anywhere,” Bilbo answered impetuously with a chuckled but shook his head, “But you have a point. Can’t have you getting anymore of a chill. You had me terrified.”

                “I apologize.” Thorin answered, kissing his hand. “I have caused you enough grief for one lifetime.”

                Bilbo shushed him, “How in heaven’s name did you end up in the river? Kili and I thought you drown, you can’t imagine! Did you meet trouble on the road?”

                “Only the weather and my own stupidity. I would have waited until dawn as planned, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I came here to beg your forgiveness.”

                “’Forgiveness?’ For what?”

                “You had not written. All this time, I sent you so many letters. I thought perhaps you were still angry with me, or angry that I could not be with you and so wanted no more to do with me. I would understand if that were the case, but I had to come and be sure for myself.”

                Bilbo held his hands tightly, “There’s nothing to forgive. All that is over and done with. I am sorry about the letters, I never received them. I thought perhaps  you had forgotten me. And I wrote none back because…well…things have changed.”

                “How so?”

                Bilbo sighed, for he knew he had to get it over with now, and he turned his head to the door. “Frodo? Frodo, my lad, come here please.”

                Thorin sat in questioning silence for a moment with Bilbo’s hand in his. And then the boy appeared. Small and pale with a head of dark curls and the most striking blue eyes Thorin had ever seen on any creature, he stood no more than maybe two and half-feet tall, and looked at them shyly from the doorway.

                “Thorin, this my nephew, Frodo. I have told him much about you.” He waved Frodo in and reminded him gently not to be shy. The boy approached and gave a little bow before the Dwarf. “Your Majesty.”

                Thorin smiled in spite of himself and bowed in return, “Young Master Frodo, it is my honor to make your acquaintance, for your uncle is a noble man and very dear to me.”

                Frodo smiled shyly and looked approvingly to Bilbo, “He’s taller than you said, Uncle.” And both men laughed. Bilbo sat Frodo between the two of them and looked again to Thorin, “His parents passed away suddenly last summer, and Frodo was left to me. He’s got no one else in the whole world, except our relations the Sackville-Baggins’s, but they’re a bit of rot, aren’t they?”

                Thorin raised an eyebrow in surprise, “I know that name. I was approached by a fellow in Bree who belonged to it. He told me that you had changed since your adventures with me and my companions and that you were…soured, as it were towards our kinship.”

                Thorin watched as shock covered Bilbo’s features first, immediately followed by a slow boiling rage that caused him to turn pink from his nose to the tips of his ears. “I’ll kill ‘im. I’ll cut his throat,” he muttered angrily and Thorin put his hand over his and said quickly, “Bilbo, the boy.”

                Frodo was looking worriedly at him and his uncle cleared his throat and swallowed his ire for now and gave Frodo a little hug and a tussled his hair; “Never you mind that. Go on, I saw that Bofur was whittling you a new toy. Perhaps he’s finished?”

                This excited the child and he ran off, forgetting all about them. But Bilbo was up and pacing, his hands in tight little fists. “Of all the dirty, lying, scoundrels! Lotho, I bet it was, wasn’t it? A pock-faced little piglet with red hair? I’ll wring his neck! What right has he to say anything, he isn’t worth the dirt on your feet!”

                Thorin stood and clasped him to him to calm him, and Bilbo eventually let the fight go out of him and wrapped his arms around the Dwarf again, his face buried in his chest. “Nevermind it now, love.” Thorin said against his ear and Bilbo nodded slowly. “And as for the boy, you should have just told me. Did you really believe that I would not understand the obligations of family?”

Bilbo laughed at himself and shook his head, realizing how foolish he’d been about everything, and he found himself almost crying with relief. Thorin brushed the tears at the corners of his eyes with his thumb. He leaned in to kiss him again when a cough came from the doorway and they looked up to see Kili watching them. “Am I interrupting?”

                “Yes,” Bilbo muttered, “And you’re very good at it.”

                Thorin patted him on the back and turned to face his young nephew who rushed to embrace him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re alright, Uncle!”

                “Well, Mr. Baggins has taken very good care of me.” He answered and they both beamed at Bilbo. Bilbo felt flustered under all the attention and toyed with the straps of his suspenders and then clapped his hands together; “Well, with that settled, why not come out into the parlor and I will get everyone some tea! So long as you all promise not spill.” He looked again piteously to the stain on his rug and forced himself to walk away, Thorin and Kili both laughing.

 

                And for that day, Bag End was awash with warmth and light and the sound of merry laughter and the clinking of dishes and the warmth of good friends and good food. Bilbo found his heart lifted and his spirit light once more. There amongst his excellent friends the Dwarves and in the warm arms of his beloved Thorin, watching little Frodo play happily, he felt a contentment he had never known possible.

                Then after a time, the world pulled him back into it. Eventually so many faces had crowded at the doors and windows, peering inside to see what was going on, that Bilbo was forced to open the door and explain.

                “Everyone! Everyone! Settle down please! I know you’re all wondering about our visitor, and he’s fine! He just needs a bit of rest!”

                “What are you saying!?”

                “What about the party!?”

                “All our hard work!”

                “Come off it, Baggins! Where’s your King!?”

                Thorin peeked out curiously from behind his shoulder glancing at the rather large crowd of Hobbits staring back at him. “Party? What party?”

                “Why the party for your arrival, oh King Under the Mountain!” Bofur said with a sweeping bow as he removed his hat. Bofur never was one to pass up a chance for showmanship, or a party for that matter. “To welcome you _, and your handsome and faithful companions_ to the Shire!”

                Thorin eyed him evenly, knowing somewhere along the line his instructions had been skewed somehow and this is what he had gotten out of it. Bofur knew it too but the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eye kept Thorin from correcting him on the matter.

                Suddenly Frodo had hold of Thorin’s hand and was tugging him out into the crowd. Bilbo made to stop him, but Thorin waved him off.  Frodo addressed the crowd of onlookers plainly, squeezing Thorin’s thick fingers in his hand. “This is my Uncle Bilbo’s King Thorin. He is good and brave, and I like him. We’re going to go down to the party tree now and have lemonade and biscuits. Would anyone else like to come?”

                The crowd parted for them with smiles and chuckles and Bilbo shrugged his shoulders as Thorin looked at him somewhat helplessly, yet smiling all the same. “Well then, lemonade and biscuits it is. Come and join us, my most excellent Hobbits!” Thorin called to the crowd and they cheered and followed in earnest.

                Kili was smiling wide again as he looked after them and then to Bilbo’s stunned expression. “Oh don’t be so surprised! He never could resist a child; how do you think he ended up dragging me and Fili around all this time?”

                “I had no idea,” Bilbo chuckled as the others went out to join them, including Dwalin and Nori, though they looked a little apprehensive. Bofur clapped Bilbo upon the shoulder and grinned, “I see the lad is just like his uncle.” He winked and then went out to join the festivities, dragging Bilbo by the hand from his doorway.

 

 

                The Shire seemed to glow gold in the afternoon sunlight, and the streamers and banners strung from poles and awnings to the branches of the Party Tree fluttered in the sweet smelling breeze. A warm breeze wafted the smells of wildflowers through the fields where it mixed with the smells of pastries, sun-ripened fruit, meats and aged cheeses. Children laughed and danced around the May Pole and local musicians played bright spritely tunes on handcrafted instruments.

                The Dwarves could not help but enjoy themselves very thoroughly. Both Bofur and Dwalin took up their own instruments and joined in the music, drawing quiet a crowd of dancers about them. A fair young lass with golden blonde braids made eyes with Bofur and pulled him into the dance with her. Nori was deeply engaged in haggling with the local merchants, tempting them with fine jewels from the mountain and they with all manner of hand-carved pipes and lutes and fiddles, and Dori was looking at all the samples fabric from other merchants, keen to buy plenty of airy cottons for the oncoming summer days in Erebor.

 Kili was being eyed by a great many young maidens, and he indulged them and showed them his strength by lifting heavy benches and enormously swollen vegetables. He was also keen to join the archery contest that was being held, and helped the young lad’s steady their arrows and perfect their posture.

Thorin and Bilbo walked arm in arm about the square, with Frodo trailing beside them, suddenly very attached to Thorin. They sampled food from the carts, and greeted many distant relations of Bilbo’s warmly. Everyone had so many questions for the King, but he was completely lost in Bilbo’s eyes. They heard whispers from behind them about the way the King looked at Bilbo and how he must indeed be very much in love. Some of the Hobbits grunted and groaned about this, and others sighed and smiled remember fond far of days of their own forgotten romances.

“Where has Gandalf gotten to?” Bilbo asked after a time when he noticed that the sun was sinking low behind the rolling hills. “I do hope he’ll show us some of his stunning fireworks displays.”

They paused and sat upon the grass together at the crest of a little rolling hill, just behind some of the food carts, where they could have a moment of privacy while Frodo dozed on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo stroked the boys back for a moment, his eyes down cast and then looked to the man at his side; “I know what you’ve come to ask of me,” he said then. “Bofur told me. Of course I would say yes, but…” he held Frodo a little tighter.

Thorin put his hand beneath Bilbo’s chin and lifted his gaze to meet his again. “Do not be so sure you know what is in my heart,” he said. “I know what it was I wrote, Bilbo, but something has changed. You see…I do not intend to return to Erebor.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened for a moment, this his brow furrowed and he frowned as if unsure he actually heard him correctly. “What do you mean you’re not returning to Erebor? You’re bloody King! Isn’t there…a rule about that?”

Thorin chuckled again but shook his head; “There are things that must be settled yes, and I have left instructions with trustworthy companions for such things. But it is more than that, Bilbo. I am weary, in my heart and soul, body and mind. The madness that overtook me after reclaiming my homeland; the same sickness which plagued my forebears, robbed me of it. I have done what I can for my people, and I have dispensed much of the vast wealth my grandfather accumulated to our neighbors and allies and to the other dwarven kingdoms, so that they may better their lives. And now, all my heart desires is peace. I will stay here with you, if you will have me.”

Bilbo was speechless. In fact, he was nearly without breath all together. Thorin put an arm around him to steady him, almost afraid he would faint. “Will you have me, Bilbo Baggins?”

Bilbo grabbed the dwarf by one of his dark braids and pulled him close, kissing him fiercely. “As if you ever needed to ask, you fool.”

“I love you.”

“Oh and I love you.” Bilbo kissed him again just as Frodo woke and squirmed away from him. “Ew, uncle Bilbo, no kissing!”

“Oh, but I commanded your uncle to do so little one, and I am the King after all.”

Frodo thought this over for a moment. “Oh, well, I guess so. But I’m going off to play then. I don’t want any kissing!” And off he went a flurry of little furry feet and dark curls. And when he had gone from sight, Thorin pushed Bilbo down in the grass and kissed him over and over again, fumbling to undo his blasted suspenders.

 

 

***

 

                In the meantime, not far away at all, Gandalf had wandered to a humble little Hobbit Hole on the outskirts of Hobbiton, a little place near the Brandywine river that he had visited before in days gone by, though Bilbo knew nothing about it. The Hobbit that lived here was a very old one, by the name of Edgar Boffin.  He, like many of those living in the Shire and it’s out skirting communities, had ties with the Baggins and their relations, though Bilbo would probably be hard pressed to recall the name without the help of the family records.

                Edgar was an elderly widower with one child, a girl named Violet who was a seamstress and frequented the shops in both of Hobbiton and Bree. And it was between her daily comings and goings and his frequent trips to the Prancing Pony that Edgar became a sort of collector of odd information. Indeed, he might very well have been the eyes and ears of the Shire itself for all anyone knew, for he had a great penchant for listening and gleaning information from people without their realizing it; for he was small and meek looking and did not look to be the sort to pass judgment on them or cause trouble.

                He was also a great lover of Elvish tea leaves that Gandalf brought with him from the realms of Rivendell and Lorien. And so the old wizard paid his friend a visit that day, curious to hear what he had to say.

                “And how is cousin Bilbo?” the white haired Halfling asked from his easy chair by the fire. He idly played with the grip of his walking stick as he sipped his green tea with great satisfaction.

                “Very well now, I believe. He has a great deal of company from some very old friends. Or have you not heard already?” Gandalf answered with a wink of his eye. Edgar chuckled and took another sip of his tea. “Don’t be coy, wizard. I know what it is you’ve come here for and it’s not to have tea with me.”

                “Oh really?”

                “Yes. And there has been some queer goings on, let me tell you. Particularly concerning young Lotho Sackville-Baggins. You recall? Lobellia’s boy.”

                “Yes, the one with unfortunate complexion.”

                “Indeed. At any rate, he’s been seen doing some odd business with the post master. My girl, Violet, you remember Violet? My she’s a beauty, still looking for a husband. At any rate, she said that on several occasions over the last six months, she’s seen the two exchanging money for some rather odd looking bits of parchment. Very official looking; nothing like what you normally see around these parts. And who ever heard of paying for their post, eh? Strange business.”

                “Indeed. Has Lotho been up to anything else?”

                “As a matter of fact, yes. Since the thaw, he’s been seen slinking off into the woods at dusk. Now that in and of itself is not so strange, a walk in the woods can be quiet refreshing. But he always seems to be going down the path that leads to the old abandoned mines, which are dangerous. He doesn’t seem keen to be seen doing so either, always looking over his shoulder. I said hello to him once when I spotted him on one of my after supper walks and he pretended not to see or hear me!”

                “How very rude,” Gandalf nodded, humoring the old man. But his mind had now turned to other things, and as he peered out the window he noticed that it was nearly dusk. So he stood and thanked Edgar for his time, and Edgar thanked him for the tea and they said their goodbyes. And when he had closed the door behind him, the Wizard started off at a purposeful pace towards the wooded place that the old Boffin had described to him. Gandalf had wandered these paths many times in his past, though his memory of the woods was a bit blurry. Still, he did recall the old mine and wondered what sort of business Lotho could have there. It might have been a hiding spot for the pilfered letters he supposed, but that seemed very out of the way for something that could be easily burned in one’s own fireplace.

                Even from this distance he could see the lights upon the hill that illuminated the Party Tree and hear the faint lingering notes of music. He was glad for their merriment, but even gladder for the moment that they did not know what he was up to. Having lived a long terrible count of years, Gandalf had seen many things, good and bad. He knew that Thorin’s enemies were numerous and there were some that would be keen to follow him anywhere he may go if they had even the slightest chance of destroying him. It worried him to think that such enemies might find themselves an alliance within the peaceful boundaries of The Shire, but stranger things had been known to happen.

                He followed the increasingly rocky terrain as it sloped downhill and the heavy firs parted and came upon the mine. For the moment there was no sign of Lotho, nor anyone else lurking about in the growing dark. But the wizard did not like the feel of the place and so sought to inspect it closer. As he drew closer to the opening he crinkled his nose, for the air of the place smelled foul and unnatural. It was not the smell of disuse or even of something old and rotting within the stony confines, but something wicked and foul all together.

                He ducked his head at the low entrance and felt about the walls, his staff lighting the way in the darkness. But aside from some abandoned artifacts, he found nothing out of the ordinary, not even tracks. He did, however, hear a very faint tapping from within the walls. He felt along the smooth stone until he found a spot that he could press his ear to and listened. The tapping was continuous and quick, not quite like the dripping of water on stone but something similar. This puzzled the wizard and he took a step back to think when something just outside the cave opening startled him.

                “Here you are!”

                Gandalf nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of Kili the Dwarf, who stepped easily into the cave with him, looking about curiously. “Kili, you fool! Don’t you know how dangerous it is to startle an old man, especially one that could turn you into a slimy little wart toad at a snap of fingers!?” He gave the young man a swift tap upon the head with his staff and Kili yelped and rubbed the sore spot.

                “Ow! Don’t be so cranky, Gandalf! We were getting worried about you, it’s nearly dusk and no one has seen you since this morning!”

                “And why should that worry you? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own affairs, and I needn’t ask permission from dwarves, no matter how noble their house.”

                “Aye, well, you also have a bad habit of getting in a lot of trouble when we’re not around.” Kili reminded him and Gandalf seemed flustered for a moment before smiling and leaning upon his staff. “Yes, well, I suppose that is true.”

                “Come on, everyone’s hoping for some fireworks now that it’s getting dark! What are you doing in this gloomy old place anyway?”

                “Nothing of great importance, Master Kili. Nothing of great importance.”

 

***


	9. Uninvited Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues long into the night, and Thorin makes a surprising announcement that does not go over well with his companions. But attentions are turned when an unexpected terror interrupts the festivities, and Lotho makes a desperate move.

 

***

 

               

                They rejoined the party to find a most joyous and surprising sight. Bilbo and Thorin were actually dancing together among a group of other merry making Hobbits. “Well bless my soul,” the wizard chuckled thoughtfully, seeming very pleased indeed. Kili scratched his head in wonder; “I had no idea Thorin could dance, much less be almost good at it!”

                “Ah, but love makes us capable of anything, Master Kili. I’m sure you know that well.”

                “I do.”

                Gandalf riffled through the little pack he kept upon his belt and withdrew a few small cylindrical items of varying colors and held them out in his hand, muttering to them before lighting them with the tip of his staff. Kili stared in wide-eyed wonder as the simple tubes glowed and then lifted into the air, changing into spectacular shooting stars of green, gold and brilliant crimson. The crowd paused in amazement to admire them as they zoomed about just above their heads, showering the group with gleaming sparks (that were harmless to the touch of course).

                While the crowds gathered for Gandalf’s firework display, others retired around the bonfires for a well-deserved drink and a bit to eat. Bilbo bit ravenously into a sticky bun, realizing he hadn’t touched food in hours. As he wiped some of the white frosting from his chin he caught Thorin looking at him seductively and he blushed and chuckled, licking his lips unconsciously. Thorin turned a little pink then himself, and received a hearty slap upon the back then by Dwalin, whom had caught them looking at each other. “Well, good to you two aren’t wasting any time getting reacquainted!” he laughed at them.

                “Oh, quiet you!” Thorin swatted at him. “I’ve suffered through many of your conquests in the day, need I remind you?”

                Dwalin winked at him as he picked up a foamy pint and downed it in a few gulps; “Ah, but you were one of my little conquests, if it pleases your majesty to recall.”

                Thorin turned deep red then and Bilbo found himself swallowing a little too hard and then coughing afterwards. “You two…?”

                “I don’t think now is the time to drudge up ancient history,” Thorin reminded Dwalin with an even but warning tone; “Unless you want to also explain to Mr. Baggins how I beat you black and blue for giving the same treatment to my sister.”

                Now it was Dwalin’s turn to blush and they all laughed at the odd sight and Thorin looked very pleased with himself indeed as he sat down with Bilbo all but crawling into his lap. The others gathered closer, and they noticed that one of their party was still missing. “Where’s Bofur?” Bilbo asked then, scanning the crowd for him and his distinct floppy hat.

                “Oh, probably still off with that fair-haired lass he met,” Kili chuckled, taking another hefty mouthful of sweet strawberries and wiping the juice from his bristly chin. “They hit it off sometime ago. She must be a lover of mustaches.”

                The children ran by, cashing one of Gandalf’s magical creations—a little red dragon—and shouting and screaming with glee as they attempted to catch it. Bilbo settled back against Thorin’s chest in contentment and spotted a few of his cousins eyeing him with mixed emotions. He raised his glass to them and they in turn did the same and gave him a smile.

_This is happiness_ , he thought to himself, _why can it not always be this way?_

They lifted their eyes as a thunderous display of light and color and sound exploded above them and the crowd fell to an amazed hush. And when it was all over they leapt from their seats and clapped and cheered in joy and Gandalf gave a modest little bow and a tip of his hat.

                Much to Bilbo’s surprise then, Thorin stood and called to the attention of the Hobbits that had gathered around them, “A moment of your time, my most excellent hosts, if you please!”

                They all fell into a hush, staring at the King with bright eyes and baited breath, for they had been in awe of him since he had set foot among them. Thorin smiled and raised his glass, and they did the same. “I would like to thank you, for your time and hospitality, of which cannot be matched by any great hall or palace within the realm. Truly, there is no place in the world that can compare with the simple beauty and peace you have cultivated here.”

                The crowd cooed and cheered, pleased indeed to hear such praise. “As I’m sure you know, I and my compatriots have traveled far to be here with you tonight. And I’m sure that you all know of the tales of our kingdom of Erebor, as told to you by my esteemed and treasured friend, Mr. Bilbo Baggins, without whom I would not be here today.”

He squeezed Bilbo’s hand and the Hobbit thought he might actually burst from the warmth he felt then. But instead he shook his head and acted as if his deeds were nothing at all of importance and his relatives laughed and cheered him. “A toast to Mr. Baggins! The bravest, kindest, most excellent Hobbit of them all; and my dear true love. I hope you all appreciate him as much as I have come to.”

                “To Bilbo!”

                “Hurray for Bilbo!”

                They all drank happily and then the King interrupted them all once more; “Now, before we all settle down to this excellent feast, I would like make one last announcement; the vast wealth of family has both been a boon and a burden. A terrible burden. And it was through many hard lessons that I have learned that true wealth does not lie in gold and jewels, nor crowns or titles. It lies in…peace, and contentment. Good friends, and good company. Wealth of the spirit, wealth of kinship and love is the only wealth that any of us may truly possess. And that is why I have decided that I should remain here, among your riches, as long as I am welcomed.”

                He looked to Bilbo then, who greeted him with nothing but warmth and cheer. But a voice was suddenly at Thorin’s ear. “Are you mad?”

                Thorin turned then to his oldest friend, and Dwalin looked back at him with shock and outrage. At first Thorin had no voice, for Dwalin had always been faithful, always been on his side, never questioning even when he was wrong.

                “Do you really mean that?” Dori asked looking up at him from the end of the table. Nori elbowed him sharply, “Of course he does; he’s in love. Let it be!”

                Kili only stared, he had no words, but Thorin could see an old anger in his eyes. The King faltered under this sudden intense scrutiny, though none of the Hobbits seemed to notice, for they were all too busy celebrating this unexpected gesture.

                Bofur came wandering in at that moment, looking rather sated and pleased with himself, before looking around in confusion at all the shocked and angry faces of his friends. “What did I miss?”

                Thorin turned to Dwalin then, and there was a stubborn wounded look in his eyes as he scowled at him. “You dare raise your voice against me now? I am more sound of mind than I have ever been. You followed me into death and ruin, you watched what my grandfather’s treasures did to me and you stood by me faithfully even then. But now…now you ask me if I am ‘mad’?”

                “You are King, Thorin!” Dwalin exclaimed; “no longer an exile, no longer a wanderer of the wild! You choose this path and we believed in you! Yes, I say you are mad if you think that after all that you can just abandon it for…for…!” He gestured helplessly at Bilbo, clearly angry yet not wanting to insult him.

                “What of Fili?” Kili erupted suddenly, slamming his fists down upon the table. “Did you even discuss this with him before you went on this venture? Did you even offer him a choice?”

                “Sit down, Kili, and hold your tongue. This matter doesn’t concern you,”

                “THE HELL IT DOESN’T!”

                Bilbo came between them and tried to calm the before anything else happened, for now the others were watching with confusion and concern. “Please, please, _please_! Can we not do this here? Let us all go back to my home and we can talk about it further!”

                “Yes, I quite agree,” Gandalf added.

                Then quite suddenly a scream erupted from just beyond the crowd. All attentions turned toward the sound, and some people began running away in fear shouting; “Goblins! Monsters!”

                The quarrel amongst them was quickly cast aside and Thorin and Dwalin were up and moving swiftly through the crowd, with Bilbo, Gandalf and the others flanking them. The scream intensified as well as a whimpering shout from a small child. The Hobbits scattered in terror, and they pushed past them and then they saw it.

                It was indeed just that; Goblins. Two to be exact, but they were hastily carrying off a pair of small children who were bawling and bellowing for their parents, who appeared to be out of reach. Kili immediately took up his bow and loosed a volley of arrows towards the fleeing scum. He caught one in the leg and it screeched like a pig, but continued its retreat with the little babe in its claws. Thorin was crossing the distance at incredible speed, unleashing his sword, which gleamed in the light of bright moonlight. Bilbo ran beside him and drew his own sword Sting from its sheath. He had thought he would never use the little sword again and had only brought it out at the request of his friends to show it off. Now he was glad to feel its steel in his palm again. “How is this possible?! How are they here?!” he called to Thorin as they ran. Thorin shook his head, uncertain.

                But there was no time to talk now. They were upon them, Thorin arcing his blade in a deadly swipe as one of the foul creatures turned to attack him, dropping its prize upon the ground. Bilbo made a swoop for the sobbing girl and rolled free with her out of harms’ way as Thorin met the Goblin blow for blow.

                The other beast gave up its prize too, clearly more hungry for blood and battle than for easy prey and made to leap upon the Dwarf’s back. Kili shot it another arrow that pierced the place between its neck and shoulder and it screamed terribly and turned to attack him. It was immediately defeated by Dwalin who crushed it with one great swing of his hammer followed by the sickening crunch of its bones turning to dust and splinters before it thudded upon the ground.

                Thorin and the beast exchanged several more blows before the King was able to behead the beast and sent it’s mutated skull rolling across the grass like a fallen apple. “Are the children alright? Bilbo?” he turned panting to look at his companion who had gathered up the weeping babes and tried to shush them. “Frightened, but fine I think.” He nodded.

                They gathered close, staring at the slain bodies in wonder. Gandalf came to meet them there at the edge of the wood. “Where could they have come from?” Thorin found himself asking, turning now to the wizard for answers. “They could not have followed us all this way without our knowing, they do not possess that sort of stealth.”

                Bilbo shook his head, “Nor could they have come from anywhere near by, there are too many eyes to spot them.”

                “Apparently not quite enough,” Dwalin gruffed.

                Thorin turned to them, “I think it best we patrol the area in case anymore might be lurking out of sight. Dwalin, Nori, Kili, you’re with me. Dori, Bofur, help disperse the crowd and get everyone home safely, don’t let anyone go off on their own!”

                “Aye!”

                Bilbo added; “I’ll return these little ones, and then I need to get Frodo home. But then I’ll join you—“

                Thorin shook his head; “No, I think it best you wait at Bag End with the boy, incase anything else arises. They will need Sting to protect them if we are not nearby.”

                Bilbo nodded and understood and they went off, but the wizard remained with Thorin. “I will go with you, for I fear what you may find.”

 

***

 

                With the children returned to their frantic parents, Bilbo made haste to find Frodo and bring him safely back home. Luckily the boys had been far from the trouble and Pippin’s parents had been looking after the lot. Bilbo thanked them and promised them that the trouble would soon be reckoned with, and reminded them to stay in their homes with the doors locked and shutters bolted, just in case.

                Then with his nephew in hand, they sprinted for home. “Uncle Bilbo, were there really Goblins in the Shire?”

                “I’m afraid so, my lad,” answered the older hobbit, sweat making his caramel colored curls stick to his brow and the back of his neck.

                Frodo looked terribly frightened then and whimpered, and Bilbo gave pause upon their garden path and knelt beside him, hugging him by the shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Now, now, no tears. You are safe so long as I am here. I would protect you with my life, my boy. You know that, don’t you?”

                Frodo nodded with a sniffle and wrapped himself around Bilbo’s neck as his uncle carried him inside. “Where are Thorin and the others?”

                “Looking for other trouble in the woods. Never you mind them, they will be fine and be home before you know it.” He promised, but as he reached for the door he froze, for his latch had been broken.

                “Uncle Bilbo?”

                “Shh.” Bilbo sat him down gingerly and instructed him to go around to the garden shed and hide there, but Frodo would not go alone in the dark, for he was afraid. So Bilbo tucked him behind him as he drew his sword again and gingerly stepped inside the house. He heard a faint rustling somewhere out of sight and he tightened his grip. “Frodo, if anything should happen, I want you to turn and run. Run until you reach Sam’s house and do not stop for anything. Do you understand?”

                The boy nodded though he gripped his uncle’s coat tails and trembled. Bilbo inched forward and let the boy hide behind one of his easy chairs as he turned the corner into the hallway, sword at the ready.

                But instead of a Goblin, Bilbo found himself with a very different houseguest. Lotho was there in the hall, riffling through the old trunk of treasures that Bilbo had brought back with him from the Lonely Mountain, its contents strewn haphazardly across the floor.

                “LOTHO!” He bellowed, loud enough to make the other Hobbit nearly jump out of his skin. Before he could turn and run however, Bilbo had him by the scruff of the neck and flung him bodily across the floor where he skidded to a halt against the doorway. “You treacherous little imp! I could have killed you! Do you know that!?”

                But far from looking remorseful, Lotho looked frantic, like a cornered animal, and lunged at his cousin, knocking him back against the wall. “Where is it!? Tell me!”

                “You’re mad!” Bilbo grunted, shoving him off, but Lotho lunged again, this time with his hands around Bilbo’s throat. Bilbo struggled, but he did not want to kill him. He dropped his sword and tried to pry the larger man off him as he was squeezing the life out of him and white and red dots began to splash across his vision.

                “Where is it! The thing you brought back from the mountain!? Give it to me! GIVE IT TO ME!” Lotho bellowed in rage, shaking his cousin. Bilbo finally managed to heave him off him by striking a blow to his gut and then his knees, causing him to fall. Bilbo stumbled away trying to catch his breath. He made to escape, calling for Frodo to run for help.

                But Lotho came behind him and bashed him over the head with the fireplace poker. Bilbo slumped to the floor unmoving and a small puddle of blood began to collect beneath his head as he lay there. For a moment Lotho stared at him, breathless and stunned, almost not daring to believe what he had done. He was sure he had killed his cousin then and he trembled. There was a muted cry and he looked up, eyes bugging and saw little Frodo flee for the door. Lotho made to grab him but the boy was too quick and was out of his reach and gone, out into the night. Lotho knew he was doomed then and there was no time. He turned back to his cousin and began to search him, fumbling about for anything that could have come from the mountain. It was then that he felt within the Hobbit’s waistcoat pocket something small and firm. He pulled it from its place and looked it over. It was nothing very impressive; just a simple golden ring that looked a bit worn and slightly tarnished.

                Surely, he thought, this could not be the item in question. This could not be the power, ancient magic that Bilbo had brought back with him from the bowels of the Misty Mountains. And yet, the magician had warned him that it would be something Bilbo kept on his person, something that might seem ordinary. What was more ordinary than a plain gold ring?

                Lotho hesitated, but he thought he heard shouts now from the path outside and he knew he had to flee. He left Bilbo to bleed upon the floor and was gone, out into the darkness, fleeing over the hill and down across shaded and shadowed yard, leaping over fences and clamoring through fields, avoiding hunting parties and watchful eyes.

                The Goblins had forced his hand; if only he’d had more time, it might not have come to violence. But there was nothing for it now; he wasn’t coming back anyway. At least, not as simply Lotho, son of Lobeilla and Otho. He would have power, he would have recognition, he would have wealth. And Bilbo would not be able to contest it, not even with that ridiculous King at his side and all his dwarf armies.

 

 

                The night was growing darker and even starlight could help them see little among the dense pines in the old forest, and soon Thorin and his compatriots were forced to turn back. As they made their way back towards the fading lights of the Party tree and the little round globes of light caused by the lanterns outside the hobbit holes, Dwalin approached his King.

                “Forgive me,” he said solemnly. “I spoke out of turn and I had no right.”

                Thorin would not look at him but kept walking, eyes set ahead and his mouth in a hard, firm line. Dwalin followed and when Thorin did not speak he grasped his arm. He half expected the other dwarf to turn and strike him, and he felt he would have deserved it. But Thorin made no move at all to resist, and neither would he look at him. “You were right and I was wrong. I have followed you through all things, and I have never questioned you, because I believed in my heart that you knew what was right. You…surprised me, is all. And I have worried for you, as we all have. You are not the dwarf I grew up with, not the prince I pledged myself to. And there are times Thorin that I have scarcely recognized you.”

                “You are right. I am not as I once was. But it is not for ill this time that I am altered.” Thorin answered at last. “You have ever been my friend, Dwalin. You and Balin have always been part of my life, as much my family as Kili or Fili, and I have great love for you.”

                “And I you,” Dwalin nodded, still gripping him close. “So why do you leave now, after all we have worked for?”

                Thorin eventually brought his eyes to meet the taller dwarf’s and they were sad; “Some wounds cut too deep, my old friend. And some cannot be mended. I love my kingdom, but it will be the death of me. If I have some hope of regaining myself, then I must remain here. It is what my heart wants.”

                Dwalin still did not fully understand, and he felt anger welling in himself again and before he could catch himself he said; “Then you are a coward.”

                Thorin blinked and turned aside and this time Dwalin did not follow him, regret stinging him worse than any knife in his side.  Kili came bounding up behind him, having not heard the conversation and looked on in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing, go on. Where’s that damn wizard?”

                “Thorin!”

                They heard Gandalf’s cry from somewhere ahead and they all went running at the sound. In the clearing just beyond the woods, the grey-cloaked figure was crouching beside little Frodo Baggins, who was frantic and sobbing. Thorin reached them first.

                “What has happened?” he gasped.

                Gandalf ushered him along, sweeping up the boy as they ran. All Kili or Dwalin heard was a rush of words and Bilbo’s name jumbled amongst them. Thorin was faster than the wizard, and he soon left they behind as went bounding up the paths towards the house atop the hill. They were met by Bofur and the others along the way, who followed in confusion.

                Thorin found the green painted door of Bag End left ajar and burst inside. He was greeted by the sight of Bilbo lying upon the floor of his front parlor, blood splashed across his forehead and staining the floorboards beneath him. Thorin bellowed, and the sound it carried through the night and chilled the hearts of any who heard it.

                He was beside the Hobbit on the floor when the others arrived, and Bofur had pushed his way to the front of the line. Thorin looked up at him for a moment and his companion understood. He bolted across the room and into the kitchen to fetch a wet rag and some blankets. When he returned the others were piling into the room and Thorin was lifting the Hobbit and placing him upon the sofa, carefully checking his head.

                Bofur handed him the rag and Thorin used it to wash away the blood, before he tucked the blankets over Bilbo’s still form. His hands trembled and his lip quivered. “Oh Bilbo, what happened to you?” he whispered.

                Gandalf came to stand beside them then, leaving Frodo with Kili, who was trying to calm him. As he put his hand across the Hobbit’s forehead and mumbled something in Elvish, he looked to the dwarves beside him. “Lotho Sackville-Baggins,” he said after a time. “Frodo said that he was here, going through their things and that when Bilbo found him they attacked each other.”

                “But, isn’t that one of own cousins?” Bofur boggled. “Why would he do such a thing?”

                “A bad seed, I’m afraid. From what I’ve learned, I think Lotho may indeed know something about our unwanted guests this evening. It could be that he came here to hide some evidence.”

                Thorin kissed Bilbo’s limp fingers and was up, “Bofur, look after him.”

                “You needn’t ask,” Bofur replied, stroking the Hobbit’s hair gently. Gandalf looked to the King; “Thorin, don’t be rash.”

                “I am going to get some answers. And if I find none, then there will be blood.” He answered and was gone out the door without another word. “Dwalin, go with him!” Bofur urged, but the larger dwarf did not move, however bitter he looked.

                Kili and the others stared at him, then the young prince punched the bald dwarf hard in the arm and sneered at him before running off after his uncle. Nori, Dori and Bofur stared at their friend, who would not look at them before he disappeared further into the home, looking over the wreckage.

                “What is happening around here?” Dori asked aloud, very troubled indeed. He wrung his hands nervously and his brother patted his shoulder and tried to assure him. Bilbo moaned then and came back into wakefulness blinking. Bofur hugged him tight and kissed his cheek; “Oh thank Mahal! There’s my laddie! Alright there, Bilbo?”

                Bilbo rubbed his throbbing skull and tried to steady himself, but Gandalf pressed him back down upon the cushions. “Be still, you’ve had a nasty wound. Rest a moment, and when you get your bearings I will explain.”

                “Where is Thorin?”

 

***       


	10. Gatherings in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Kili chase Lotho into the mine and get more than they bargained for. Balin prepares for war, hoping that Thorin may yet return. Fili discovers a terrible truth about Tagnox's plan that may lead them all to ruin.

 

***       

 

                Thorin was an excellent tracker, and Kili had learned the skills well from his uncle. Even in the dark it was not hard for him to follow the path left by the other dwarf, nor the fugitive Hobbit he was chasing. The path was wild and winding in its attempt to allude them; perhaps this Lotho did indeed know he was being chased, but it was also clumsy. He found many places where the Hobbit must have stumbled and fallen, including bits of torn clothing on fence posts and even a few spilled coins from his pockets.

                The path lead back into the woods and here it became more difficult for Kili to see, but he had learned from Legolas how to listen to the woods and hear things that seemingly moved in silence. Somewhere, maybe ten or twelve yards off, he heard the sound of something crashing through the brush and he bolted for it, arrows at the ready. As he came down the sloping bend, his feet met with pebbles and he slid somewhat unexpectedly. He rolled, trying to catch himself and was caught by a deft hand and pulled to his feet. Thorin glanced at him quickly to make sure he was unharmed and before Kili could speak, pointed ahead of him where he saw Lotho creeping towards a small opening in the side of the hill below them just beneath a tiny rushing waterfall.

                Thorin motioned for him to be silent as they moved in and as Lotho was about to disappear, Kili fired a warning shot that lodged in the rock just above his head and made him yelp. Thorin rushed him, hoping to take him while he was startled, but Lotho vanished into the darkness of the cave and Thorin did not hesitate to follow.  The Hobbit was just out of reach and he bellowed and cursed at him. Lotho turned with wide, fearful eyes as he came to the dead end of the tunnel and realized with heart-stopping terror that he did not know how to open the secret entrance.

                Thorin was upon him then with the blade of Orcrist shining in his hand as he thrust it up beneath Lotho’s quivering chin and pinned him there. “You wretched little maggot! Tell me why I should not free your head from your shoulders!”

                “Wait! Wait, you don’t understand!” Lotho squealed, trying to put some distance between himself, the blade and the enraged dwarf lord, but finding only the unforgiving cold surface of the rock behind him. Faintly, Kili thought he heard tapping coming from behind the rocks and he looked around cautiously, but could see nothing.

                “Thorin…”

 

                But his uncle did not hear him, he was too fixed upon Lotho. “Why did you attack Bilbo? Confess, you little--!”

                The tapping became louder and now even Thorin had to take note of it. Dust and rocks began to shake loose from the ceiling and Kili’s eyes widened. “Cave in!”  he gasped. Kili grabbed at Thorin and tried to pull him back, but it was too late. The rock behind Lotho suddenly gave out entirely and he flipped backwards into the darkness with Thorin and Kili rolling helplessly after. The world spun in a hurricane of dust, rocks and dirt and light flickered and danced with shadows as they tumbled and collided with rock at every turn. The slid down an incline and for a moment hung in thin air before plummeting to the hard earth below, and for a time after that, nothing moved at all.

                Thorin came too first, shaking dust from his eyes and bemoaning the screaming pain in his back and shoulders. But he was alive, and so he turned his attentions to more pressing matters. He groped in the dark for Kili and luckily found him close by. The boy was unconscious, half buried beneath a loose pile of fine rocks and dust and Thorin lifted him to check for wounds, still trying to gain his bearings.

                As his eyes cleared, he realized that he could indeed see in the darkness; very well in fact, as it was illuminated in several areas of by torches affixed to the walls, and even a few low burning fires. The cave was not abandoned after all, and it was far more than mine. The King’s breath caught in his chest as he realized that he was looking at the beginnings of a new city; one of foul loathsome creatures. Quickly he scanned the area for signs of movement, but for now he saw nothing except Lotho, lying unconscious upon the ground. Still, Thorin knew this must be a tremendous bit luck, for whoever had lit those torches and fires would not have strayed far.

                He shook Kili again and when the boy did not respond he lifted him over his shoulder and started to creep along the wall towards Lotho. He paused over the body and leered down at it, nudging him with his foot to see if he was indeed still alive. The Hobbit groaned and Thorin grumbled before stooping to pick him up as well. “I should let you die here, you rotten little—“

                There was a squawking sound then that made his look up. A Goblin, a squat, spiny greyish thing with only one eye and one gaping socket, had spotted him from a nearby ledge. Obviously he had heard the commotion of the cave in and come to see what the trouble was. Thorin laid Kili back upon the ground behind him where he would be shielded by the protruding rock and readied his sword. “You should have kept about your business,” he dwarf sneered and lunged at him just as the little monster turned to raise the alarm.

                Thorin crossed the distance with only a few speedy strides and grabbed the thing by its pointy ears and threw it bodily against the rocks to keep it from reach for the rope of a great tarnished bell that hung just to the right of them. The Goblin sprung back easily, for they were tough and used to cruel treatment and lunged at the dwarf’s throat. Thorin slashed at it and fell away bloody and hobbled, but it’s hand still reached for the bell. Thorin gave another swing of his blade and the Goblin’s head went rolling across the ground. Panting he looked around, only to find that no bell was needed; his presence had already been made known.

                Thorin cursed in Dwarvish, and held Orcrist at the ready. At least a dozen crawling, screaming little mutants came lunging at him from all angles, their hands raised with knives and pick-axes and hammers. Thorin was not afraid and met them blow for blow, avoiding them with ease and returning their fury tenfold. As they battled there in the open ground of the vast former reservoir, their cries and grunts echoed from the walls and the ceiling and made it seem as if an entire army were waging war below.

                This sound carried and was heard above, echoing through the cracks in the rocks and carried out onto the night winds, and the Hobbits feared that the Old Forest was whispering to itself again, and plotting some new unseen wickedness and they hid beneath their blankets.

                But Gandalf the Grey knew better. It was not long at all before Bilbo was demanding that they go after Thorin and Kili, and even shorter before Gandalf quiet agreed. Something foul was stirring in the woods of the Shire and he was keen to find out exactly what it was.  They followed the signs left behind by their brothers, all the way back into the forest, where Gandalf lead them towards the old hill and the mine hidden behind the waterfall.

                Imagine then his alarm when he found that the opening had been obscured and the water disrupted. “It must have caved in!” he gasped.

                “Thorin!”

                Bilbo was sprinting down to the rocks and at once began to pull and pry at them, hoping to dislodge the blockade. The others followed suit, all heaving whatever boulders they could manage out of the way, or hacking at them with their hammers and swords. Dwalin bellowed for them to move and took a great swing at the center of the rubble with his own hammer. With another great crash the rocks crumbled and dispersed and the smallest of openings was revealed. Hurriedly they began to dig again, until a man-sized hole was had, and Bilbo hurriedly crawled through it with the others calling after him.

                Gandalf came close behind him then, lifting his staff before them to shed some light in the cloistered darkness and frowned at the Hobbit, shaking his old grey head; “You’re more of Took than you know, charging in here so hastily.” He muttered.

                “Oh don’t bother me with that now!” Bilbo snapped back. “Can you see anything?”

                The wizard squinted in the dark and crawled forward, the others pushing and shoving behind him and little Bilbo steadily at his side. There was indeed light at the end of this tunnel, and it was a hot and flickering sort of light, and the sound of battle came from where it lay.  A few more feet and the floor dipped heavily and they were sliding down until they reached a rocky ledge and a world of light and shadow opened before them into a wide oval cavern.

                Bilbo nearly went off the edge of the ledge with the other dwarfs spilling behind him, but Gandalf grabbed him by his britches and yanked him back. Looking down now, they could see the battle below, and Thorin being steadily surrounded.

                “Down we go lads!” Bofur bellowed, rallying his brothers as they all took the steep stairs at a leap and a run, startling the gathering forces below. Thorin looked up at them in surprise and smiled when he saw them, but his attentions were diverted elsewhere and he cried out for his nephew and turned to run.

                “Go, Master Baggins!” Gandalf urged from above and he unleashed his own sword; Galamdring and its bright gleam made the bug-eyed beasts howl in fear. Bilbo ran, swift and sure footed along the edge of the ledge until he found a rock to which he could jump to. He landed upon the ledge below and then sprang down on an approaching enemy from above, crushing him to the ground and slitting its throat before it could attack Thorin.

                The King was racing back into a tunnel that opened beneath the high ledge they had appeared upon, where it seemed Kili was being dragged away into the dark by more of the cowardly scum. Thorin bellowed terrible at the creatures and charged them and they skittered and scurried deeper into their tunnels, too afraid to face him. He dropped beside Kili and made to lift him again as Bilbo came to join him there upon the floor. There was the whistle of a loosed shaft and Thorin only raised Orcrist in time to deflect an arrow from finding it’s home in Bilbo’s head. The Hobbit stared at him breathless and Thorin pushed him behind him protectively; “Stay with Kili!”

                Bilbo grabbed his sleeve; “You’re not doing this alone!”

                Thorin hadn’t time to argue and they rose to defend their downed kin just as more archers descended from the dark depths. They grabbed Kili and pulled him behind a boulder to shield themselves from the volley. Thorin took up Kili’s bow and arrows and loosed several in return, which felled two of the beasts, but did not stop their advance.

                Gandalf was suddenly behind them , his staff raised. “Heads down! Cover your eyes!” He shouted and then sent his staff crashing down with a thunderous noise that caused Bilbo to cry out and cover his ears as Thorin wrapped an arm around him and Kili and bowed his head against his as light erupted among them.

                After a breathless moment in which it seemed all the air had been sucked from the room, Bilbo looked up blinking again, and felt Gandalf’s sure hand upon his arm. “Come up now, it is done.”

                They stood, still blinking to find indeed the battle was finished, for there was no more sound, no more attacks, and only a little more than a dozen slain Goblins littered the floor of the cavern. The Dwarves looked to each other to assure themselves they were all present and then turned to Thorin who was hunched over Kili; the youngest dwarf just coming around.

                “Are you alright?” his uncle asked.

                Kili rubbed the throbbing place on his head and was helped to his feet. He looked down at the bodies of the slain Goblins, stunned and disoriented. “What did I miss?”

                Bilbo chuckled and hugged him about the middle and Kili returned the embrace as they gathered in the center of the vast corridor. “Do you know this place, Master Baggins?” Nori asked looking about uneasily.

                “No!” Bilbo gasped, taking it in with awe and growing dread. “I had no idea these old tunnels went so deep!”

                “I doubt most people did,” Gandalf answered, “and that was just exactly what they wanted. Someplace dark and deep and undisturbed, where they could quietly sneak out into the night to do their dirty work and no one would ever be the wiser.”

                “But Goblins do not come here! Goblins haven’t been seen in the Shire for hundreds of years, they do not come farther down past the moors from the Entwood!” Bilbo exclaimed as if trying to reason that none of this could be. But Thorin put an arm around him and looked at him firmly; “I’m afraid that has changed.”  He studied the construction about him before looking back to the wizard; “These are new buildings, new machines. They have not been here long. Those we killed must have been the scouts and the workers…others will be lurking elsewhere. We need to get back to Hobbiton and warn them.”

                “But where are they coming from!? I tell you, if Goblins were coming down from the Entwood, we would have seen them!” Bilbo argued and the Dwarves did not know what to say. Gandalf took his staff and followed it’s light for a few yards until he found a tunnel to the east that seemed well worn by tracks and the treading of heavy carts. He sniffed the air and was sure he could smell water. “They have come down through here, I think. If we follow the tunnel, I believe we shall also find some answers.”

                Bilbo nodded resolutely and started forward, but Thorin held him back. “Perhaps it’s best if I take you home. There could be danger ahead.”

                At this Bilbo gawked, threw his arms in the air and then cried; ” _Of_ _course_ there’s danger ahead! There could be anything down those tunnels, Goblins for sure, Orcs perhaps, _a dragon_ for all I know, but I’m not about to hesitate, no sir! Not Bilbo Baggins! I told you before…you’re not going alone. Weren’t you listening?”

                “I would not have you follow me into danger again.”

                “Well that’s just too bad,” his Hobbit answered with a sly smile, toying with one of Thorin’s braids, which now mirrored the smaller one Thorin had made in Bilbo’s own hair. “because I’m not letting you get away so easily this time.”

                Thorin was touched but still concerned; “What of Frodo?”

                And Bilbo did look hesitant then and replied; “I left him with his friend Samwise, they are a good family, they’ll look after him until I return.”

                “Then I have all the more reason to make sure you do,” Thorin said and kissed his hand. Dwalin grunted somewhere in the background and Nori rolled his eyes, but they were ignored and soon the company was on its way again, pilfering torches from their mounts and gathering up whatever other weaponry they could find from the bodies.

                Bilbo did not speak it to Thorin, but his stomach had knotted itself and he felt cold at the thought of leaving Frodo with no promises of when he might return. He wanted to run back to the boy and assure him, but they could not waste the time. More Goblins might already be swarming, planning to make an attack on the Hobbits. Bilbo had to make sure that never came to pass, whatever the cost. Thorin squeezed his hand and he found comfort and strength in his presence. Indeed, whatever they found down that tunnel, he would not have to face it alone.

 

***

 

                In Erebor, Balin sought much of that same strength and comfort, but could only find it in the tombs of the Kings. He visited there often in the past few days, and it was where Ori found him now, sitting beside the tomb of Thrain and speaking to him at length.

                “What should I do, old friend? I am no leader, I have only ever been an advisor. Your grandson…I should like to tear his beard for deciding to go off now, when things are so dark and bleak. We have grown strong again, but I fear another war. Has there not been enough of our blood shed?”

                “Balin?”

                The snowy haired dwarf turned to look at him and seemed a little embarrassed. “Ori! You must stop sneaking about like that lad, or I shall have to put a bell on you.”

                “I’m sorry,” the young scribe amended. “Who were you talking to?”

                “Old ghosts, nothing more. Sometimes I try to imagine what he’d say. He was a good leader, Thrain, wiser and more cautious than his father. But all this was before your time.”

                Ori nodded, his ginger colored hair falling in his face and he brushed it away clumsily. “The patrols have returned; there’s been no sign of Fili anywhere.”

                Balin’s face fell and he laid a steadying hand on the tomb beside him. “It’s been three days! They’ve covered all the land from here to the Carrock! Where the blazes could they be hiding him!?”

                “Perhaps they made it to the mountains,” Ori suggested. “Gloin seems to think so, and I agree with him.” He watched Balin’s reaction, waiting to see if he would object to this reasoning. “That is such a long way to travel and not be seen.” The elder dwarf replied, shaking his head. “Perhaps they could be hiding in the ruins of the old fortress as Gandalf said before.”

                But Ori shook his head, “Didn’t Gandalf say that the Elves put a spell on the place, casting out the evil? I don’t think that they would try there again.”

                Here Balin paused and studied the boy for a moment with great interest. “You know, Ori, you surprise me. You’ve always been very studious, perhaps to a fault. Your nose always in your books. I had no idea you had been paying so much attention.”

                Ori cast his eyes to the floor and smiled shyly; “Oh Mr. Balin, I am always paying attention. Just no one seems to notice.”

                He moved closer to his old friend and put his hand upon his arm. Balin did not seem to notice, for his eyes had gone misty and he seemed very far away. “Mr. Balin? Do you hear me?”

                The old dwarf nodded faintly, but he hadn’t really. He seemed to be listening to a voice only he could hear, and he cast about for a source but only saw the stone face of Thrain. “Are you speaking to me, old friend?” he asked, but no one answered. Ori shook him again and he seemed to come to himself, blinking the fog from his eyes. “Well then my friend, we shall go now and speak to our companions. I’m afraid with no sign of Fili and no word from Thorin or Kili, we shall have to take drastic measures.”

                “Like what, sir?”

                Balin breathed heavily in the quiet of the tomb and his breath seemed to disturb the silent spirits observing them for the room suddenly felt close and watchful. “I shall have to send riders to reach Thorin beyond the mountains, and hope that he and Kili have not come to harm on their way. In the meantime, we will draw the foul scum from their holes and demand Fili’s return. And, if need be…avenge his death.”

                “And what of Bard sir?”

                “What of him?” Balin did seem troubled by Ori’s continual interest in the Bowman’s activities.

                “He has gone from here, ridden out with Legolas past the Running River.”

                Now Balin stared, but Ori did not drop his gaze. “How did you know that?”

                But Ori did not answer and simply said; “Should we not send forces to help them? Surely they will need help.”

                But Balin hesitated. “No, we cannot divide our attentions too greatly. If Legolas is indeed with him, then the Woodland Realm will watch over them.”

                “Can we trust them?”

                “We can trust that King Thrandruil will protect his own.”  Ori nodded as Balin swept past him and made his way towards the great halls to call a meeting. The scribe followed him for a time, but then deterred and vanished around a corner, ducking into his room instead. Hastily he made for his desk and took up quill and ink and scribbled something upon a bit of parchment, which he rolled and sealed. Then he hurried once more out into the hall and made for one of the secluded ledges along the mountain’s face. Here a flock of crows had gathered, and Ori beckoned to them. One of the largest came and landed upon his arm, and he tied the scroll to its leg and stroked its dark feathers. “Fly, and be swift! They are coming!”

                The bird screeched and took to the air with a great flap of its black wings and the dwarf watched as it sailed down over the mountain and arched past the lake towards the heavy line of trees beyond.

 

***

               

                Fili was abruptly brought from his senseless state by a scream and he jolted fearfully and tried to reach for something to protect himself. In doing so, he realized that he was unshackled and had been lying on the floor unbound for a time.  After their last game of sport; where they had taken him to a pit in the center of these foul caverns and took turns trying to kill him with spiked clubs while he attempted to defend himself, they must have been too lazy to string him back up again.

                He steadied himself against the wall of the cell and got to his feet. It was painful, but he could stand and that was surely something, for his legs had taken a terrible beating and were bloody and bruised. He tested his arms and his hands, and though everything hurt he could still move with only a little stiffness and this gave him hope. He could fight still, however awful he felt, and as long as he could fight he could still escape this place.

                He moved closer to the bars in search of the sound that had awakened him. As his eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the torches he came to see more of his surroundings. He guess from the various levels of carven cells dug into the sloping walls that he was in some sort of prison or dungeon, which seemed odd to him as he had never known Goblins to much for taking prisoners. They loved torture and death too much to keep any unfortunate victim of theirs for very long. Why then would need such a place?

                Below he could see a great deal of work going on. Carts of rocks were being hauled from some place further down that Fili could see, and there was the constant sound of cracking whips and the braying of small ponies and the snarl of Wargs. There was the great clashing sound of rocks being hammered and picked and the occasional boom of a wall giving way. The Goblins were calling to each other in the foul tongue that was hard for the Dwarf to discern more than a few words. But by and by he began to realize that they were digging new tunnels, and from the looks of it, a lot of them.

                This didn’t seem particularly strange to Fili at first, but the more he watched the more concerned he became. Why were they digging new holes and tunnels now? And more importantly where to?

                He began to tremble and sway upon his feet and his vision blinked and blurred and he dropped down to rest, closing his eyes tightly and wishing the pain away. How he longed for Bard’s arms around him, or the comforting sound of Kili’s friendly voice. He wished he were home in his bed and that everything was as it had been just a short time ago.

                “Fili!” A voice whispered in the dark.

                At first the young prince did not heed it, deeming it some trick of his mind. But it persisted and eventually he lifted his gaze and cast about for the source. He saw a hand then protruding from the bars of a cell across the gap from his. It was a little lower than his own and he had to peer down to see better.

                “Who’s there?” he ventured, afraid the Goblins would hear him, but they seemed too busy with their tasks below. Realizing he had been heard, the owner of the hand brought himself closer to the bars, and though he had to squint, Fili recognized his face. “Ori!”

                The young dwarf tried to smile up at him, but his face was marred by terrible scratches and bruises and he could not open one eye. “Fili! Oh Fili, you’re alive!”

                His friend gaped at him, heart breaking to see his young friend bound as he was in this terrible and hopeless place. “How did you get here?! How long have you been here?!” he cried, no longer caring if he was overheard.

                “Weeks…” Ori whimpered.

                The blood in Fili’s veins chilled and he felt faint. He gripped the iron of the bars though they cut him and tried to comprehend. “No…no, it’s not possible. It’s been only days! I saw you, the morning I was captured…”

                “It wasn’t me,” Ori wept. “Oh Fili, it wasn’t me you saw! He’s a monster! His magic is wicked and black and he can change himself!  Forgive me, please forgive me!”

                Fili could not understand. He thought for sure Ori was delirious, sickened from his wounds. Then a shadow appeared beside his cell and he looked up into the face of Bard. For a second time, the young prince thought that he would die of shock.

                “What’s wrong, my love? Does this face not please you? I have others.” The voice from the man’s mouth was strange and horrible, and Fili thought he was looking into a nightmare, for Bard’s once beautiful eyes shined gold and terrible.

                The body before him seemed to shimmer and shake for a moment and where Bard once stood, now stood Tagnox, grinning brightly at him with his terrible smile. Fili lunged at him, not caring about the bars and screamed and tried to tear at him, but the Goblin staid just out of reach. “So my little trick doesn’t please you.”

                “It’s impossible! IMPOSSIBLE!” Fili roared at him. Tagnox stepped forward and opened his cell door before reaching inside and grabbing the dwarf by the throat and bodily lifting him off the ground. “I told you, I am not an ordinary Goblin. I am more than they are, I have magic older than the wizard’s, for my blood is mingled with an ancient race. Perhaps your poor rotting friend Beorn knew of it.”

                Fili shuddered, eyes wide. He understood then, even as unconsciousness was overwhelming him.  Beorn’s words from long ago, about how the Goblins and the Orcs had captured and tortured his people and kept them for sport rang in his memory. They must also have done worse, subjected them to breeding in hopes of gaining their magical abilities.

                “My kin have done well, learning to act like Dwarf scum,” Tagnox explained, casting his eyes to Ori, who was glaring up at him. “Though he is the runt of litter, as it were. He can only take one form at a time and only after lengthy exposure to the source. I am not so inhibited.”  He changed again to the face of Bard and Fili choked and tried not to look at him. “Which pains you more? This face? A puny man? Or perhaps…” He shimmered again and suddenly Fili was looking into Kili’s face. “Does it bother you, brother, to know you suffer in my place?” he asked, and his voice was the same as Kili’s.

                Finally the dwarf found the last of his strength and he kicked the Goblin hard in the ribs, hard enough to create a cracking sound. Tagnox groaned and dropped him and he fell to the floor and rasped and coughed until he spat blood and bile. The Goblin roared at him and kicked him viciously and Fili emitted a small scream and did not move again. Below him Ori began to call his name hysterically, but no answer came.

                Tagnox bent over the fallen dwarf and heard the faint wheezing of his breath. He was impressed at his resilience, and almost admired him. He then turned in disgust to Ori, who was weeping bitterly in his cell. Tagnox spat and then called to his guard, who ripped the poor half-starved dwarf from his cell and brought him before their half-breed leader.

                “You love your little prince so do you? Then you can share his cell and watch him suffer, knowing you can’t stop it. And in the meantime, you can explain to him how your weakness brought his kingdom to its knees.”

                “He won’t suffer,” Ori muttered. “You will.”

                Tagnox was amused and tossed him roughly into the cell beside Fili and slammed the door. “Bring them water and whatever rot you can find to feed them. I want them alive long enough to watch me take Erebor from under them.”

                They turned and were gone, and when the previous drone of work below returned, Ori crawled over to Fili and laid the wounded prince’s head in his lap and smoothed away his bloody hair and kissed his forehead.  “It will be alright,” he promised him shakily. “Thorin will come for us, surely he will.”

 

***


	11. The Mountains of Mirkwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Legolas transverse the Old Forest Road on their mission to rescue Fili, when they come by a place not often traveled even by the Elves and discover a terrible possibility; the Goblins may have been right under their feet the whole time.

 

 

***

 

                The sun was still rising at their backs as they traveled south along the forest edge, following the rushing river beside them, the sun casting long shadows that ran before them beneath the ground. Neither man spoke much, for their minds were both elsewhere, with those they were hastening to rescue.

                “The surest route is along the Old Forest Road. There is a spell upon the path, but you needn’t fear it, as long as I am with you.”

                “I thought your father would have removed such enchantments?” Bard asked his companion. The flaxen haired immortal gave him a small smile, “You do not know my father very well. Above all things he is cautious and cunning, and at times this makes him deceitful.”

                “I thought Elves were above such things,” Bard muttered, and Legolas didn’t answer and he wondered if he had offended him. “Forgive me, I speak out of worry and my tongue is quicker than my mind.”

                Legolas waved him off, allowing their horses to slow as they approached a narrow clearing among the trees. They lead the horses here and swiftly found the road and the sunlight became a dappled glow between the heavy canopy of green.

                Bard glanced up at the trees and noticed they seemed different; the forest had always been a dark and forbidding place for those who were not of its blessed children. But now it seemed somehow softer, kinder towards them, and its secretive beauty revealed itself.  Bard did not know if this was some magic of his companion’s that made the trees favor him, or if the passing days since the battle had allowed them to let down their guard. Still, he was glad he could see it for himself.

                “Your home truly is a beautiful place.” He said in passing, “When it isn’t trying to kill someone.”

                Legolas nodded, “The trees recall you, and they know you are a friend.”

                “They ‘recall’ me?” the bowman gawked, but the Elf seemed very serious on the matter. “You mean they are ‘awake’, as I’ve heard in tales of old forests. They see and hear?”

                “And listen. They know you’re voice now nearly as closely as they know mine, and they do not forget their friends.”

                “Do they also know Kili’s voice?”

                Legolas nodded but did not speak and Bard wondered if the shadow that fell upon him then was some trick of the light or if the trees sensed his sadness. And Legolas was indeed sorrowful in a way that none of his kin quiet understood. He had changed, and a little of the light of the Elves had gone from him, replaced by the shade of mortality. He would outlive all of them, Bard knew, and hundreds of years from now they would be only ghosts in his memory. But he would never be as his brothers or his father and death would eventually reach him, long before his time.

                Legolas reached out and took the bridle of his horse and lead him back more evenly upon the road and Bard saw a root reach out as if it were a hand and try to trip them. “Be mindful, my friend. Not all the trees in the greenwood are kind.”

                “Indeed,” Bard nodded. His mind drifted and he tried to imagine Fili there beside him with his arms around his strong body and the feel of his rough hands in his and the smell of mountain rain in his hair. Bard’s heart ached palpably at the idea that he may lose his second chance at love.

                His companion spoke then, for he must have sensed his thoughts. “I am…sorry. This pain you feel, the terrible danger he’s in, they are my fault. If I had been stronger, able to break free on my own, Tauriel would not have done this. Whatever blame you have, place none of it on her.  She was only doing as she has done for a thousand years; protecting me.”

                “I blame neither of you,” Bard answered, but he knew in his heart that was not entirely true. “But I wish your people had sought the help of mine before falling to these measures. We could have helped, we could have leant our aid, and perhaps…Fili would be here now.”

                He looked out across the road and every gleam of sun reminded him of the lost dwarf and he thought the trees whispered his name to him. “I must find him. I will bring him safely back home, whatever the cost. Even if it means my very life.” He said resolutely more to himself than his companion.

                Tentatively the Elf reached out and touched his hand gently. “We will bring him home.” He vowed.

 It was noon, or so Bard guessed by the slant of the light from the trees, before Legolas spoke again. He called for a halt of their horses and looked around pensively.

“Some danger?” Bard asked, dismounting, fingers itching for his bow. The Elf nodded slowly and seemed to be listening intently as his eyes pierced the thickness of the wood. Bard noticed here that the terrain had changed and had become stepper and littered with rocks and protruding roots.  The trees grew thinner here and the grass was thin and wild, and little white flowers of Kingsfoil grew in sparse bunches. “I have never been in this part of the wood before.”

“We are at the roots,” Legolas said and his voice was soft and distant. “The roots of the dark mountains. I have seldom come this way myself, and I do not like the feel of it.”

“Mountains?” Bard questioned, “There are no mountains in Mirkwood. High hills perhaps,” But he realized it was foolish to argue with the Elf and turned his gaze towards his. To his great surprise he could see through the thin trees a great mountainous slope arching ever upward. Bard was amazed that he had not known of this place, nor had ever seen it on a map before, as if the Elves had been keeping it a secret.

“Are they dangerous, these mountains?”

Legolas shook his head, “I know not. As I have said, our paths lead around and away from them, but I remember stories of my brothers that wicked things once dwelt there; old ghosts of the dead and other creatures.”

“Goblins?” Bard asked.

Legolas hesitated, then took his horse and began to lead them from the path. Bard trailed after him, trying to keep with his quick stride. “Where are we going? We haven’t time for this! We need to reach the Old Ford and rescue Fili!”

The Elf nodded and raised a hand to summon his silence before turning to look at him seriously, “Perhaps we have stumbled upon something they wish us not to see.” He said quietly. Bard blinked, no understanding. “How do you mean?”

“These mountains have been long avoided by my people, my father fears them and has forbade their exploration.” He replied a new light in his bright blue eyes. The air stirred around them and a foul wind blew through the trees, drawing clouds over the sun and casting heavy shadows upon them. They peered above through the high canopy, still sparse with spring buds and could make out the mist surrounding the peak of the shrouded peeks.

“I have thought long on this, trying to understand how these hordes were able to transverse the distance between the Misty Mountains and our woods without being seen. Now I must wonder…did they need to travel he distance at all? What if they are here, hiding in plain sight?”

Bard seemed as if he scarcely heard him for his gaze did not deter. Shadows fell around them, long and black and the trees grew hunched and gnarled, their bark ghostly white and brittle. Beside him, Legolas’ horse began to stamp and bray, shaking its head and refusing to move forward. Legolas stroked its muzzle and neck in an effort to calm it, speaking to it softly in his native tongue as Bard began to wander away, his eyes fixed on the shrouded peeks high above them.

It felt to him as though the trees were whispering again, but their words were plain now and they called Fili’s name to him and bade him to follow for his love was somewhere just beyond, waiting for him.

Bard’s horse began to do the same, but he did not mind it, until the animal pulled free of him all together and turned to trot away back down the hill. He made to catch it, but could not, and nearly lost his own horse in the process.

“Bard! Bard!” he shouted, but the man did not hear him. He kept walking, eyes fixed ahead and Legolas began to realize that some ill enchantment had ensnared him. He rushed forward and grabbed his arm and tried to turn him from the path, but Bard resisted. “Bard! You must stop, you must hear me! What’s happened to you?”

 The dark haired man pushed him away thoughtlessly, nearly knocking the Elf from his feet.

As he stumbled among the leaves, Legolas saw something that caused him even greater alarm. His companion was about to walk into a sunken bit of sandy earth that did not look natural at all. “Bard!”

Too late. The man stepped upon the sandy soil and suddenly he sunk to his knees into sink hole. It turned black at the touch and Bard seemed to awaken from the spell, for he cried out and began to struggle.

“Do not struggle! You’ll only sink faster!” Legolas shouted to him and cast about for something to reach him with. He pulled a branch from a young tree which was long and supple and stretched it towards him. “Grab this and I will pull you free!”

Bard stretched as far as he could, but every movement of his body only made the black sands devour him more quickly. He had already sunk to his chest and now as he reached it was climbing higher. Legolas came as close as he dared to the edge of the sand, but Bard was sinking too quickly and though he had taken hold of the branch, the Elf could not find enough leverage to pull him out.

“Legolas!”

The sand had reached his neck. In fury then the Elf cast aside the branch and leapt into the sinking sand with him and he did not sink nearly so quickly. Though Bard screamed for him to get out before it was too late, the Elf ignored him and gathered his arms around him and tried with all his strength to pull him free. But the sand would not release them and now Legolas had sunk to his knees.

“I’m doomed, leave me!”

“I do not abandon my friends so easily!” Legolas answered, and to the bowman’s great surprise he wrapped his body around his  and let himself be dragged deeper. “Take a breath!”  he cautioned the man who all but lost beneath him. Then Bard was gone, with Legolas still clinging to him. The Elf cast his eyes about the wood and began to speak feverishly to the trees, evoking some old magic. He sunk faster and soon was gone from sight as well and the wood stood still again.

 

Bard shut his eyes tightly and waited for death, lamenting that he would never again see Fili or his dear children. The sand kept moving all around him, rushing and spilling and creating an endless hissing sound. The Elf’s body was still close to his, his hands still clasped fast to him. He tried to will them away as if he could still save him, but it was no good, he was utterly immobilized. But the Elf moved and he felt his face touch his, pressed temple to temple and Bard thought he heard his voice reaching out to his mind.

_“This is not the end.”_

Bard could scarcely agree when suddenly he felt as if he was falling faster and the sand gave way around his feet so that he could move and kick them freely. And then he really was falling, fast  and without restraint, down and down until he met with the hard surface of rock which left him breathless and stunned for a time.

Legolas dropped beside him and when he had gained his own bearings again, he roused Bard and checked him for injury. The bowman stared up at him, sputtering and confused. “What in the name of Arda was that?!” he cried, but Legolas bade him be silent and pointed over his shoulder.

Bard stared up, sand still stinging his eyes, and saw that they had fallen into some secret underground chamber. There was no sound but a far distant tapping noise as if something were falling steadily upon the rocks.

“Where are we?” Bard whispered. “Why are we not dead?”

“It’s a trap,” Legolas answered. “meant to ensnare large prey. It is not of Elf make.” He ran his hand along the carven walls and drew it back then as though it burned him. “Goblins have been here, and recently. But something more as well…something of terrible darkness.”

                Bard set his face into hard, determined lines and Legolas recognized an old fire there, “Then let us go out and meet them. My blade is thirsty for blood.”

 

***

 

                Fili found himself standing in the middle of a vast wheat field, high upon a hill that overlooked a great green valley. In the far distance he thought he could see the peak of the Lonely Mountain. He stood, silent and confused, letting the wheat brush against his outstretched palm. The air was warm and sweet and the sun was setting in the West.

                “Fili! Fili!”

                He turned and saw his brother waving to him from a little ways down the hill. “Kili?” he called back to him, but his voice sounded strange and distant. “Kee?”

                “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

                “Late for what?” he called back. He began to fight his way through the fields, but it felt like was standing in mud and his feet did not want to work. “Kee! Wait for me!”

                “Come on, Fee!”

                “Kili! Kili!” He shouted again and again, still struggling through the sea of wheat. “Please! Where are you?  Please! Don’t leave me behind…”

                “It’s alright, Fili.”

                He turned and saw a dwarf he did not recognize standing beside him. He was dark haired like his uncle and his eyes were a lighter shade of blue. He was taller and of leaner build than Thorin, but the resemblance was undeniable. The dwarf smiled at him kindly, “You do remember me, if only just. You were so small then, barely higher than my knee.”

                “Frerin?” Fili asked softly.

                The Dwarf’s smile broadened. “Yes! Happy you have made me to speak my name. Come, let me look at you a little closer.”

                But Fili hesitated, almost afraid. “Uncle Ferin, you have been dead so long. Why are you here? What is this place?”

                “Yes, I have been gone a long time. But this is no shadow of death I cast on you, nephew. It is but a dream place, connected to the realm in between the two. You needn’t fear me.”

                “Why am I here?”

                Frerin moved towards him as he grew closer Fili lost his fear of him and felt warm and at peace. Kili’s voice drifted, but did not fade entirely. Glancing down the hill he could still see him there, looking back at him. Others had gathered too, but he could not quite see their faces. “See? No need to be afraid.” Frerin assured him and Fili nodded and embraced him.

                His uncle’s spirit held him fast and close for a moment and then pulled back, kissing him upon the brow. “You are strong, Fili, stronger than you know. I’ve come to help, however I can. My brother and sister would never forgive me if I didn’t!”

                “But how can you help me? If this is a dream--?”

                “I wish that I could explain,” Frerin replied but as he looked about the wheat began to shimmer and the world around them began to fade. “But there is no time now. When you wake, I will be gone and you will be back where you were. But I will not be far, and I will lend you my strength.”

                Fili nodded and even as he grasped the other man he felt him fading from his hands. “Before I go, do one thing for me.”

                “What’s that?”

                “Tell my father…”

                Frerin smile brightened; “Oh my dear boy, he knows. He has always known.” He was gone then as suddenly as he appeared and Fili felt suddenly terrible and empty without him and reached out with a cry.

                A hand met his and arms tightened around him, but they were not Frerin’s. He was awake again, blinking up at Ori who was looking at him worriedly. “Fili?” he asked cautiously.

                The blonde haired dwarf lifted himself with some effort from Ori’s lap and rubbed his head. “How long have I been out?” he mumbled. His companion shook his head, “Not sure, time’s so funny here. But they seem to have broken further through in the tunnels. There was an explosion of some kind and I have seen fewer and fewer workers.”

                Fili inched towards the bars and looked out, and indeed Ori was right. The dungeon was all but abandoned, and he could see only two or three sentries lurking about at the large opening down below, all which looked sleepy and distracted. “Where is Tagnox?”

                “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him for awhile.”

                “Perhaps he has gone down the tunnel,” Fili mused. He looked to Ori and took stock of him. The poor dwarf looked starved and beaten but the wounds upon his face had begun to close a bit more. Fili grasped his hands and tried to offer some comfort. “I am so sorry for what you have endured my little friend.”

                “It’s not your fault. They took me unawares one night when I was waiting for…” his voice trailed and his eyes dropped to the ground.

                “Waiting for me to return from Bard’s.” Fili finished with a hefty sigh. “Ori, I am so sorry. I will amend for this, I promise it.”

                The youngest Dwarf smiled and hugged his friend tightly, “I am only glad you are alive!” He exclaimed, sniffling a little. “But I fear this is the end for us. We’re…we’re going to die in here, aren’t we?”

                Fili got to his feet and began to feel about the wall with his hands, “No Ori, we are not.” His hands groped and grappled in the crevices and cracks of the stone, looking for some purchase that he could grab fully. Ori watched him in silent wonder and confusion for a time, until at last Fili found what he had been looking for. Heaving against the rock, he managed to dislodge a large stone about as wide as dog’s head, and sharp at its edges. He smiled and moved towards the bars, testing the iron to see if any were weak at their source. Eventually he found one that was crooked and pointed outward and he began to beat at it with vigor, grunting and heaving with the effort on his battered body.

                Ori cringed at the sound and rushed to him. “Fili! Fili don’t do that! They’ll come up here!”

                “Let them,” the other grunted. “I have a score to settle.” He continued to pound the rock over and over again against the shard of rusty iron until eventually it gave way and fell out onto the ledge. Not to be daunted he started hacking at the jagged piece just above it, dangling from the cavern’s mouth until it too came free. Only then did he hear the sound of flat feet slapping against the stone and the approach of a guard.

 Fili reached back and flattened Ori against the wall, “Stay back, and when I say run, do so!”

                Ori nodded nervously, and Fili hung back and waited for the guard to approach. When he was in sight of its ugly face, it’s mouth open ready to give the alarm, Fili bashed him in the face with the rock as hard as he could. There was a terrible crack and squelching sound as black blood squirted across the prince and the walls of the cell, but the Goblin fell away and did not get up again.

                “Run!”

                Ori bolted forward and grabbed Fili’s arm as they climbed through the narrow opening and made their way out upon the narrow ledge. Ori picked up the broken bit of iron from the ground as he was swept along and brandished it in front of him like a sword. They sprinted down the spiraling path with nothing to protect them but their meager make-shift weapons.

                They heard more commotion as the other remaining sentries came to see what the noise was. “Stay with me,” Fili cautioned his friend and Ori could only nod. They ran, their feet carrying them faster than they could imagine, as if propelled by some unseen force.

                The Goblins screeched and bellowed at them, gathering their spears and daggers and chasing them down the narrow path, but Fili was faster than they were, and any that attempted to get close were at once cast down, either bludgeoned or stabbed by rock and iron.

                Spears flew too close to their faces and lodged themselves in the cliff side, but they paid no heed. Their only goal was to reach that dark gapping tunnel before them.

                But there was a terrible cry then and they heard the howl and snarl of a Warg. Ori looked up to see the beast on the ledge above them, snarling down with terrible fangs and glowing eyes. He emitted a scream as it fell upon them, jaws gaping and raised the iron rod as high as he might. They felt the weight of the animal crush down upon them, knocking them from their feet and sending them rolling down incline to the floor below.

                Ori looked up blinking, half crushed beneath the beast as it yowled and foamed in its death throes. Ori had managed to stab it through the throat with the iron rod. “Fili?!” he called shakily, trying to roll the beast off him, but he was simply too weak.

                His friend was beside him, also trying to move the animal, but he had his hands full avoiding the spears that were flying at him from above. “Ori, hang on!”

                He roared angrily as one of the sentries launched themselves at him and he was forced to defend himself with nothing but his bare hands. The Goblin tore at his throat and tried to squeeze the life out of him, it’s black claws digging into his flesh and drawing more blood. Fili choked but bared his teeth, eyes full of hellish fire and grabbed the monster by the sides of its head and twisted viciously until it’s  neck snapped and it fell away, limp and unmoving.

                He managed to pull a small curved dagger from the dead thing’s belt and armed himself with it as others advanced on him, the smell of fresh blood driving them mad. He heard another howl of a Warg and realized that this was a battle he could not hope to win, though he did not despair. Ferin’s presence was all around him and he was not afraid. He only wished Thorin and Kili could see him now. Would they be proud he faced his end so fearlessly? And Bard…he would have liked to have kissed him, one last time.

                He slashed at the two beasts that were bravest and received blows in kind as he attempted to defend Ori, but they fell back, one now missing an eye and the other split wide across his belly. The Warg was bounding towards him and Fili snarled at him, daring him to try and finish him before he returned the favor.

                There was a whistle then and the thunk of a shaft striking flesh and bone. The Warg howled and fell before them, dead with the arrow still covering in its flesh. Fili looked up and saw the faces of Bard and Legolas above him.

                “Hang on Fili!”

                Fili’s smile had never been so bright. “Bard!”

                The man and elf lept down from the perch above them with nibble legs and sure footing, and they met little resistance on the way down. Bard was faster somehow, as if propelled by sheer longing. He ran and dropped his weapons aside before engulfing Fili in his arms and dropping to his knees with him, crushing him tightly to him. The embrace made Fili’s hurts sing, but he paid them no mind and wrapped his arms fully around the bowman and buried his face in his neck. “How did you find me?” he mumbled against his skin. “I thought I was lost.”

                “Nothing is ever lost that wants to be found,” Bard answered and kissed his face gently. Fili turned to Legolas who was sweeping up to them and pointed behind him, “Please, help Ori—“

                “You never need ask, your highness. Today, I am yours to command.” The Elf nodded and moved to removed the dead weight that had pinned helpless Ori to the ground. The little dwarf sputtered great words of thanks and gratitude, but Fili could not quite make sense of them. The cave seemed bright and glittering then and he felt like he was floating. Bard held him firmly and lifted him into his arms, and Fili would have protested but he hadn’t the strength.

                Bard spoke hastily to Legolas, saying something about finding a path to escape these tunnels, and Fili tried to speak, tried to tell them what Tagnox was planning, but all he could do was lie passively in his lovers arms and fight unconsciousness until Bard kissed his temple and told him to let go, that he was safe. And finally he felt he was.

 

***


	12. Battle in the Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin, Bilbo and company continue their trek through the darkness of the Goblins tunnels. Lotho discovers the secret of Bilbo's magic ring and old allies appear from the West.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the lovely and encouraging comments!

 

 

                They traveled long in relative darkness, barely hearing a sound except for the sound of their own movements, and their hearts beating loudly in their own ears. They were tense with waiting, never knowing around which bend they would meet trouble. Gandalf lead them on, with Bilbo and Thorin trailing directly after, Kili, Bofur, Dori, Nori and Dwalin bringing up the rear. Dwalin had been charged with carrying Lotho, who remained firmly unconscious and even more of dead weight than he was when he was awake. Bilbo could recall little of his scuffle with him, thanks to the brutal blow to his head, and so had not yet noticed what had been taken from him.

                It was just as well, as it would not have served him here. Bilbo felt shivers in equal parts fear and excitement coursing through him, and he had almost forgotten how he had come to love the thrill of adventure and the feeling of Thorin at his arm, brave and strong and sure. He had thought he had lost these feelings forever, and yet they found him again despite the odds. His hand brushed Thorin’s in the darkness, ever eager to feel him close, and the dwarf’s hand gave his a little squeeze of assurance and then let go again.

                His eyes were fixed forward, accustomed to dark corridors of stone. He listened for any sound that might give away their enemy, the scraping of clawed feet and hands on rock, that horrible mumbling gurgle they made, or the glint of yellow eyes peering back at them through the darkness. His mind was turning over hurriedly; why had they followed him here at such a great distance when they could have had him easily at any time on the journey? It did not make sense to the dwarf, and it made even less sense that they would attempt to settle here among the borders of Hobbiton when their natural home lay so far to the north and the east? What were they planning and why now, when their forces had diminished and suffered so?

                The King had questions in droves but no answers and it vexed him. He glanced up and saw Gandalf had fallen back in stride with him and was looking down at him; “Your mind is heavy, Thorin Oakenshield.”

                Thorin gave a nod in reply and answered, “I am thinking of Fili. If trouble from the Goblins has come here, so far beyond its natural borders, then I fear what might be happening in my absence.”

                “It is conceivable that the Goblins now turn their attentions to the West in hopes of finding easier prey. After you and your company so recklessly demolished their tunnels in the Misty Mountains and slew so many of them upon the battle field of Erebor, I would not be surprised.”

                “No Goblin ever took the path of least resistance, and certainly not those who followed Azog.” Thorin replied. “Perhaps they came down from the mountains of the north instead of going around to the Blue Mountains where our kin have put down roots.”

                Gandalf nodded, but seemed unsure and Thorin wasn’t satisfied with the idea either. They continued on, discovering as they went various mining tools and carts loaded with dangerous looking weapons; enough for a sturdy army of equal greatness to one they had formed within the caverns of the Misty Mountains, barrels of oil and strange black powder, tools for mining, and a hefty supply of wood. To have gathered so many supplies would have taken much time, and they would have had to have acquired help from somewhere to bring it all this long distance, whatever their path. “I do not think our coming had anything to do with their plans,” he said after a time, turning worriedly to the others. “They must have been planning this for months, if not longer. Why did our spies send no word? How could this have gone unseen?”

                They did not have answers for him, but Gandalf looked most troubled of all, for he knew there should have been at least one watchful eye along the mountains that would have gotten wind of this trouble. Why did he turn a blind eye to it now?

                After a time, Bilbo began to notice that above them he could see the roots of trees dangling from the earthen ceiling, and he could smell the ancient damp of the soil and hear the drip of water upon the rocks. “We must be well into Bridgefields by now, getting closer to the river. There are high hills on the other side, just north of Bree. Could they have come from there?”

                “I think that is likely,” Gandalf mused.

                Here there was a grunt and a groan and they gave pause as Lotho seemed to finally regain his senses. “Put me down! Put me down!” he bellowed at Dwalin, kicking and thumping him upon the back.

                “Gladly,” the older dwarf replied and allowed the Hobbit to fall graceless to the ground with a shout. As he sat there moaning and muttering, Bilbo and Thorin came to surround him and he looked up at them sheepishly. “Cousin Bilbo! You’re alright…!”

                Bilbo drew back his fist and punched the little man square in the face, causing his nose to squirt blood and making him topple backward. The dwarves blinked in surprise and then began laughing aloud, the sound echoing all around them until Gandalf hurriedly shushed them. Lotho blinked up at them, teary eyed and angry as he held his offended nose. “You think that’s so very funny do you?” he snarled. “I will show you!”

                “Indeed,” Gandalf said, looking down at him with passive expression, though that made him no less dangerous and Lotho seemed to know it. “Oh you have been up to many dastardly schemes of late, little Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Should I tell his majesty that it was you who whom had been stealing his letters to Master Bilbo? I wonder, exactly, what it is you thought you could learn from them?”

                Thorin scowled, “Interfering with royal messages,” he muttered. “That is a grave offence little Halfling, even for an outsider. I could have you imprisoned in one of my dungeons if you are so curious about my movements.”

                Lotho gulped, but it wasn’t Thorin he needed to fear, for now that he looked to his cousin again Bilbo was red from ear to throat, hands balled and shaking, ready to hit him again. “You did what?! Lotho, you treacherous little snake in the grass! You jealous little cad! What were you thinking!? You knew what those letters would mean to me, did you just want to hurt me!?”

                “Perhaps I did,” his cousin muttered. “Why shouldn’t I want to hurt you, you’ve wounded me enough in your life! Always lording all your wealth and privilege over the rest of us! You have no right to sit up there on The Hill while the rest of wallow below!”

                “That house was my mother’s, and it would have always been mine, never yours you craven little bastard. I’m so very sorry I returned alive from the Mountains and spoiled all your plans to indulge your bloated sense of ego. But this is beyond our squabbles, Lotho! Did you never think what might happen? People could have died!”

                “What do I care!?” Lotho found himself blurting out, much to both his own shock and Bilbo’s.

                “Oh Lotho,” Bilbo muttered piteously. “What’s happened to you?”

                The pock-faced Hobbit sneered and him and looked away from their eyes, hating his pity and the glares of the dwarves, whom he deemed dirty and undeserving of their wealth and standing. “Your great King came for you all the same didn’t he, whatever my plans? And now he’s going to stay in the Shire, live with you? I hope he doesn’t think he’ll be any King there, he’ll just be an oversized misfit from across the mountains. And by the way, Bilbo, are you his whore, or is he yours?”

                Bilbo lunged, and Thorin dragged him back kicking before Dwalin gave Lotho a kick of his own and sent him rolling in the dirt. “Are you so glad now that we decided to bring him along? Because I’m certainly not!”

                “Nevermind his forked tongue,” Thorin said. “He isn’t worth dirtying our hands with anymore.”

                They turned and made to walk away, and Lotho realized they meant to abandon him there. He would have agreed to this, but he did not know the way back through the tunnel and without the black-robed wizard to vouch for him, he feared what might happen if he met any remaining Goblins unarmed. He hesitated nervously there in the dark as the company drew farther and farther away from him into the shadows.

                Finally, his fear got the better of him. “Bilbo! Bilbo please! You can’t just leave me here alone, I’ve no weapon to defend myself! Please, please, Bilbo I apologize for all I did! I’m jealous and covetous, just as you said! Take pity on me! Don’t leave me here to die!” He called after them shamelessly, practically weeping.

                And here Bilbo gave pause and steadied himself, swallowing the burning anger that was still in the back of his throat. “Wait,” he said to the company, who turned to him in surprise.

                “Bilbo?” Thorin queried, raising a dark brow.

                “As much as it vexes me,” his lover said, “I cannot leave him here to die. He is my cousin.”

                Nori rolled his eyes and Dori gave him a little slap upon the back of the head at his silent mockery. Thorin sighed and answered; “Very well, we will bring him along. But I do not trust him, as he has tried to harm you once already. Nori, bind his hands and keep him close.”

                The red-haired dwarf nodded and pulled a length of rope from his belt as Lotho sputtered nervously and was jerked roughly forward and his wrists bound tightly together in front of him.

                “Look here!” Kili’s voice called from ahead then and they hurried further down the tunnel, coming around a sharp twist to see that there had been another cave in. “It must have happened awhile ago, the dust has just begun to fully settle. No wonder we haven’t seen any more Goblins down these tunnels!” The young dwarf muttered, pulling at the rubble.

                “We cannot go back,” Bilbo exclaimed, “we have to get through and see what they are up to!” He looked to Gandalf to confirm this and the wizard examined the blockage in the tunnel carefully, listening. There was a faint sound on the other side of the wall, something that couldn’t be contributed to the rushing of the river or the dripping of water from roots.

                “Clearly we must, though I’ve no doubt we’ll meet trouble on the other side.”

                “Let them come,” Thorin muttered, gripping his blade. “They will regret every crawling out of their holes.”  He and Kili immediately set to work trying to remove the rocks, and Dwalin and Bofur joined him while Dori, Nori, Bilbo and Gandalf kept watch at the other end of the tunnel to be sure they wouldn’t be caught by surprise.

                Time seemed to slow and the work was tedious and monotonous and soon they fell into a hypnotic rhythm of pick-axes and hammers crashing against rock while nimble hands dug through the debris and tried to clear a path.

                Here Bofur turned to Dwalin. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked between breaths. The big dwarf glanced over his shoulder at him, raising a bushy eyebrow at his braided and mustached companion. “What are you on about?” he muttered.

                “You, you big oaf, acting like a total jealous fool back in the woods! Don’t think I didn’t hear what you said to Thorin. It was cruel.”

                “What of it? Hardly concerns you anyway.” Dwalin muttered back.

                Bofur did not seem amused by this and went so far as to stomp on Dwalin’s foot. The big dwarf grunted and stared at him, threating to bring his hammer a little closer to the toy maker’s head if he tried such a thing again. “Come on now! Don’t tell me that you’re jealous of little Bilbo, after all this time? I mean, you haven’t exactly come forth with any  declarations! Not since…” He paused then and nearly dropped his weapon. “Mahal’s balls, man…do you really still feel that way about him?”

                Dwalin ignored him and swung his hammer faster and harder as if willing himself through the rock just so he could escape Bofur. But the hatted Dwarf was still there, right beside him, and continued undaunted. “Well you have no right. No right at all! All this time, Dwalin! You couldn’t have said one little word about it to him?! He’s in love with the lad, and you---!” He fell to cursing and hacked harder at the rock and Dwalin seemed very confused and flustered indeed. “Will you stop talking about it!? It’s not your concern!”

                “You’re an idiot. A complete—“

                “It’s not about that!” Dwalin found himself shouting then, and they all gave pause in their work to see what the matter was.  Thorin glared at the two of them, “Enough squabbling, both of you! This is neither the time nor the—“

                There was a loud rumble from the other side of the wall then and the whole of the cave seemed to shake and shudder. Thorin pulled his men back from the wall nervously as they readied themselves for whatever may come bursting through the rock.

                As the others moved to back up their companions, Lotho squirmed nervously, begging to be set loose, lest he be killed. Though it vexed him, Nori slashed the bonds from his wrists and tossed him a small knife from his own personal arsenal and sneered; “Do what you can with it, Halfling, but don’t expect me to come to your rescue if you fail!”

                Lotho began to panic, immediately trying to find some place to hide. Bilbo turned to him urgently, “Lotho! Stay with the company, don’t get separated!”

                “I’m not staying here to die!” his cousin shouted.

                Bilbo grabbed at him to keep him from running, and then the wall burst open. Goblins, flooded through the opening, more than a little surprise to find the tapping on their wall to be something other than their own breed working to free the rocks. The screamed and snarled and lunged into attack and Thorin gave a great battle cry and charged forward, flushing them back through the hole. The noise of the battle reverberated off the close walls of the cave and made a clatter so close and so terrible that it unnerved Lotho to his very core. He tore away from Bilbo, screaming and knocking his cousin off his feet as he went he running down the corridor.

                Bilbo called after him but he was too slow to get up and a Goblin fell upon his back and began to slash at him. Bilbo screamed and tried to roll away, reaching back and catching the beast’s wrist to keep him from bringing down the knife again. He cried out for Thorin in spite of himself, and no sooner had the words left his lips than he was there, his silver blade cleaving their enemy in twain and spraying both of them with blood. Thorin bent over him protectively, “Are you alright?!”

                “It’s not too terrible,” Bilbo rasped but the blade had sunk deep across his back and shoulders and he could feel hot blood dribbling down his skin and staining his shirt. Thorin lifted him with one hand and held off their enemies with the other. “Gandalf!” he bellowed, catching the wizard’s eye as he beat his enemies away with his staff, finishing them with Galamdring. “Get us out of here!”

                Gandalf got one look at Bilbo clutched in Thorin’s arm and nodded, giving a great shout and causing another surge of wind and light which shattered the collected rocks and stunned their adversaries long enough for them to push through to the other side.  Here the path widened and they fell among more enemies, all which met a swift death at their hands.

                Bilbo did his best, still wielding Sting though he could barely stand to raise his arm as it stretched the open wound upon his back. Lotho had vanished from his mind then, and he only thought of Thorin and his friends and prayed that he would not hinder them. Thorin was struggling to keep them both safe, barely avoiding blows.

                “Put me down, I’ll be fine!” He called over the din of the battle.

                “Not a chance, Mr. Baggins!”  The King answered, bending suddenly and raising his sword above him like a shield as a Goblin mace crashed against it and shook them both with the blow. But Thorin would not yield and he thrust back with all this strength, slashing the creature wide. Bilbo felt faint, but he kept his head, wishing he could help more as he now could not lift Sting at all. He let the little blade fall to the ground and Thorin looked at him worriedly.

                That moment’s distraction cost him as he took a sword stroke across the thigh that made him bellow and he was forced to set the Hobbit down in order to defend himself. Bilbo lay against the rock, fearful of what would happen next. It was only then that he remembered the ring he had found so long ago in the roots of the mountain, and it’s wonderful little magic trick. If he could vanish now, he might at least be able to hide and stay out of the way while Thorin and the others fought. He fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and to his shock came up with nothing.

                Panic set into Bilbo then, a panic he hadn’t expected. Where had it gone? It had always been right there, right in the pocket of his waistcoat. Where could it have vanished to? Did fall out in the struggle? And then he remembered Lotho. He turned and looked around frantically, trying to get up and failing. Thorin shouted for him to be still but he was beyond listening. “LOTHO!”

 

 

                Somewhere further down the tunnel, cowering in a natural alcove of rock, Lotho thought he heard his cousin scream his name. He shuddered and covered his ears, wondering if Bilbo was dead. He had heard the sound of battle beyond the fallen rock and he could not bring himself to go out and face it, nor even choose a side.

                Surely this power the wizard had promised him, this undefined reward was not worth all this madness. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought that he might not escape these tunnels, and even if he did, how he was going to explain it to his parents, much less the rest of The Shire. He fumbled for the little ring he had stolen from Bilbo and turned it over in his fingers, glaring at it. “Damn you. This is your fault, you stupid little trinket! What could you do that’s so damn important?”

                He made to throw it then, when he thought he heard a whisper; a whisper that could have come from nowhere but the object in his hand. Lotho stared in shock, too afraid to drop the thing then. It spoke to him, in words he did not fully comprehend in language long dead to his own ears. Yet it made its clear.

                It could save him. It could bring him from this terrible place and so much more. Lotho was ensnared by its words and though he trembled, he took the ring and placed it upon his finger. In a shivering instant, the world around him changed into one shimmering shadows. It took him a moment to realize he had not been transported to some strange land of shadow, but remained exactly where he was. He hesitated to move forward and as he did, he encountered a Goblin racing towards him. He almost cried out and moved back into his hiding place, flattening himself against the wall. The Goblin paused in front of him, staring right at him. And yet…he did not moved to attack him. Instead he only stood there, sniffing their air with his pig-like snout and sniffing the air, enormous eyes bulging out of its leathery features. It did not even seem to see Lotho standing there. And after a long moment in which the Hobbit thought that the thundering of his own heart must indeed give him away, the Goblin wandered away and did not return.

                Lotho could not believe his good fortune, and just as he was beginning to believe it was indeed just luck, the ring whispered to him again. Lotho understood that as long as he wore it, he could move about freely, unseen by the others. And suddenly, he thought no more about escaping back to Hobbiton. The advantage was his now, he could do whatever he liked. And the first thing that was on his mind was taking revenge on a certain hobbit and his dwarf lover. Bilbo would be ever so sorry he ever came back from adventuring. Ever so sorry indeed.

 

                Gandalf broke through the Goblin lines, sending the survivors scattering further up the corridor for shelter. Light was breaking from beyond and he could hear the sound of water rushing clearly. They were finally near the surface again. The dwarves were rushing forward, gaining more ground with each swing of their blades or thunderous blow of their hammers and pick-axes. The walls were turning black with goblin blood. But the wizard noticed a glaring absence and turned to see that Thorin and Bilbo had fallen behind and that the King had been cornered, sheltering the downed hobbit as their enemies pounced upon the easy target they presented.

                “Dwalin! Kili! Help them! Bofur, I need you here!”

                Nori and Dori held the line and kept pushing forward, redoubling their efforts now that they were on their own. Bofur rushed to Gandalf’s side as the wizard pointed to the right. “Those barrels my lad, throw as many of them into their path as you can!”

                “What!? Why?”

                “Trust me!” the wizard barked the dwarf nodded and rushed to do as he was bade, sending his axe into the barrels and turning them over, black powder spilling everywhere. He grinned as he understood Gandalf’s plan and made haste overturn more, making sure that plenty of powder would be exposed.

                Kili had soon emptied his quiver of arrows and resorted to his blade, hacking and slashing in attempt to clear a path to Thorin and Bilbo, whom were quickly being overwhelmed. The Hobbit was lying helplessly upon the floor with Thorin shielding him, though he had taken blows himself.

                “Get Bilbo,” Dwalin instructed his younger comrade, “I’ll get your uncle out.”

                Kili only nodded and made a running leap into the fray, spinning and kicking. The goblins fell upon him but he was stronger than they and easily avoided their knives and pikes. With this momentary diversion, Dwalin was able to batter his way towards his friends. Once he had cleared a path, Kili rushed behind him and pulled Bilbo from the floor, “I’ve got you, Bilbo!”

                The Hobbit nodded in a daze and clung to the young dwarf as they rushed forward, following the path made by Dori and the others.

                Thorin was pushed against the wall, a knife at his throat, trying to keep it from severing his head, but his legs were giving out and he had nowhere to go. Dwalin’s shadow fell over them then and the offending goblin was lifted bodily from the ground and hurled with such force across the cavern that he left a sizable dent in the wall just above Bofur’s head.

                Thorin slumped, trying to catch his breath as his long time confidant reached and pulled him up, “Are you alright?”

                “Now that you’re here.” Thorin nodded gratefully, though he painfully squeezed the wound on his thigh to stem the bleeding. Dwalin shook his head and lifted him, “Come on, the wizard’s going to blow this hole to bits! We’ve got to make for end of the tunnel!”

                “Where’s Bilbo?”

                “Kili has ‘im, now come on!” Dwalin was running with Thorin on his back and they were ushered along by their companions up the sloping cavern as the wizard turned and pressed the heated stone of his staff to the powder. It hissed and popped as tiny flame was set among it, then he turned and ran, bellowing for the dwarves to keep going.

                Within minutes the powder had reached the pile of barrels that Bofur had created and then the cave erupted with smoke and flame that billowed after them as though Smaug himself were licking fire at their heels.

                They cleared the opening by the skin of their teeth, the group falling and rolling down the incline onto damp grass and sand as they came crashing down upon the river bank, a hail of debris and cinders raining upon them as the cave exploded like a volcano and was thoroughly destroyed.

                But they were far from safe, even now. As the din of the explosion began to fade from their ringing ears, Bofur looked up, shaking his head and pushing his hat from his eyes to see that they had come upon another battle, one that had already been waged and won.

                He saw upon the bank two riders on horses, Elves by the look of it, trampling across the backs of dead goblins. The riders were blood stained and weary and as they set their eyes upon them, Bofur waved for help.

                Gandalf lifted his head too, long grey hair obscuring his vision and blinked in shock at the approaching riders. “Lord Elrond!”

                The black haired rider descended his steed and dropped beside them, his aid Lindir at his elbow. “Mithrandir! What has happened here?” he asked, helping the old man to his feet.

                “I would very much like to ask you the same question,” the old man mumbled, attempting to regain his bearings. The Elf lord cast his gaze about the other survivors and seemed both heartened and startled to find Thorin Oakenshield among them. “Are there wounded among you?”

                “Yes,” Thorin said urgently then, “Bilbo has taken injury!” He was cradling the Hobbit who was flirting with consciousness and wincing in pain. Elrond moved beside him as Gandalf looked on worriedly, then hastily made sure they were all accounted for.  “What business has the Lord of Rivendell at the borders of Hobbiton?” he inquired, still very shocked. He turned to look at the carnage among them and cringed. “And what devilry have you encountered?”

                “We learned that King Thorin had made the crossing over the mountains some time ago. But we were shocked to encounter this,” Lindir answered, producing from his robes a scroll with its seal broken. He handed it to Thorin, who did not understand until he saw the insignia pressed upon the wax and recognized it as one of his own house.

                Hastily he unrolled it and read the words there and his heart sank and color drained from his face. He turned to Kili, “Your brother has been captured. Erebor marches for war to the mountains.”

                “What?!” Kili exploded. He nearly tore the parchment from Thorin’s palms, reading it over hastily. He looked fearfully to the Elves for answers, “How did this happen!? How long ago?! Why have you not done something?!”

                “Silence, Kili,” Dori hushed but the young prince was not to be denied his outrage. “Take me back with you, The High Pass is not far from Rivendell, I will go and fetch him back myself!”

                “He is not there, young master,” Elrond said, looking up from Bilbo. “We have traveled far and learned much. Your kin are marching into a trap; the High Pass and the Goblin Gate have been abandoned.”

               

               


	13. The Council of Elves and Wizards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elrond explains that he has come to find Thorin and company in light of a letter from Balin that he intercepted and the growing threat from the Goblins.
> 
> Fili is at last reunited with Bard, but their tender reunion is shadowed by Fili's failing condition and Legolas brings them to the Halls of his father in hopes to make a stand against Tagnox's plot. Once he arrives, he finds an unexpected visitor who's presence only raises more questions.

 

 

***

 

                Rather than go back then, the Elves brought them across the river to Buckland, and here they came upon a small Inn where they could rest and gather themselves.

                The Inn Keeper had thought it strange to receive the likes of Elves in his establishment the night before, but now a wizard and dwarves on top of it was certainly something to look at. Both Gandalf and Elrond paid him well for his discretion and said nothing about the battle on the other side of the water.            

                The laid little Bilbo a-bed and Lindir set to work at once healing his wound. It was not so terrible a thing and he would be well again in a few days under his artful hand. This eased some of Thorin’s worry as he sat in attendance with Elrond and Gandalf, while the other Elf bound his own wound.

                “My sources have seen the army making their way across the Wilderland beyond King Thrandruil’s forest but yesterday. They will reach the Carrack by tomorrow night, and the High Pass two days following. They go to war, thinking that this display of force will make the Goblins return their prisoner. What they will find is barren hills and empty caves, and their fortress in Erebor unprotected.”

                “Two armies can’t march past each other and not see,” Dori said thoughtfully. “Even if they were to go around Mirkwood through the mountains to the North and try to attack from there, someone would surely notice such a force moving about.”

                “We thought much the same about the ones that appeared in the Shire,” Gandalf mused between puffs of smoke from his pipe. “Only one conclusion can be made from this; they are not traveling on the surface; at least not in broad daylight.”

                “Precisely,” the dark haired Elf replied. “We have seen them moving about in smaller patrols for weeks. It is not unusual to see them hunting in packs in the Wilderlands beyond either side of the mountains, but these packs left and never returned and by and by we began to see them traveling at night in large bands, hauling with them great burdens. This concerned us deeply.”

                “Yet you gave no word of warning,” Thorin replied. Elrond lowered his eyes even as Gandalf sighed tiredly, “We did not wish to raise alarm where there might have been none,” he explained. “I had sent to word to my kin in Mirkwood, and assumed, perhaps wrongly, that he would see fit to speak with you about it. Yet, I have never heard word from him since that day, and I begin to fear that some new ill may have spread through his lands.”

                “So says this message from Balin,” Thorin sighed, looking over the parchment again for what seemed the hundredth time since they stopped. “What would make him choose this reckless path? No amount of arms would return Fili if they had taken him; Goblins are not so diplomatic. My old friend knows this. The person who has written these words is a stranger to me.”

                He slumped in his chair and covered his eyes with his palm and companions ached to see him look so despondent. Bofur put a comforting hand upon his shoulder and Thorin gripped it absently. “See if there is anything you can get for Lindir or Bilbo,” he said to him and Bofur nodded dutifully. He looked again to Elrond, begging for answers. “Has there been any sign of my nephew? Tell me now and truthfully, is there a chance he still lives?”

                Elrond could only say this, “None of my sources ever saw him come pass the mountains, King Thorin. It is my belief, if this attack happened as described, that they are holding your kin in whatever secret place they managed to hold Prince Legolas.”

                “To the North then, as I said?” Dori asked then, seeming quite pleased with himself. His brother nudged him to be quiet and they muttered and hissed at each other in familiar fashion.

                “It is a possibility, Master Dori.”

                “Then we will go there and fetch him back, even if I have to search every peak and crack myself.” Thorin muttered.

                “That would be unwise,” Elrond counseled. “Your kingdom needs you, now more than ever. If you do not stop this madness, I fear it is likely that Erebor will fall.”

                Thorin felt sick and angry and said no more for a time. It was only in this silence that he cast about a realized someone was missing from the party. “Where is Kili?”

 

***

 

                Kili had in fact taken a pony from the Inn stable, and had ridden out with all haste down the main road towards Bree and beyond, knowing he must cover as much ground as he could before his absence was noticed. He knew Thorin would be angry and worried, but he had the company to take care of him and Bilbo to look after. Fili was alone, broken and bleeding somewhere with as of yet no hope of rescue. Kili wasn’t about to leave it that way.

                The sky above him was just beginning to lighten above him, pink and cold blue and the air blew damp and chilly upon his face. There was an awful tightness in his breast, knowing Fili had suffered alone, while he had been storming about hating the world and lamenting his own luck. He had never felt more ashamed of himself, and he was keen to make it right. If he could but bring his brother back safe from harm, he would never think of his loss again and put it all behind him, and try to find contentment in his loneliness. He spurred his horse on faster, feeling wetness stinging his eyes. “Hang on brother, I’m coming for you.”

 

***

 

                Fili woke again to grogginess and confusion and aches all over his battered body. But for once in what seemed like an age, he did not wake to the cold blackness of a stone cell or the stink of goblins or the smell of blood and iron. A body was warm and firm against his, and he smelled the familiar scent of his lover. His fingers flexed around his shoulder and Bard turned toward him. “Fili? Do you hear me, luv?”

                The blonde dwarf moaned and tried to sit up but Bard kept him still,  and as his vision cleared he looked up to see the bowman bent beside him, looking over him with a mixture of relief and concern. “Steady yourself, there’s no rush. We’re safe for the moment.”

                Fili almost couldn’t believe that, until he cocked his head and glanced about, finding that indeed they had come out of the tunnels and were deep in the forest, taking shelter beneath the roots of some old great tree. Daylight played along his skin and he cherished it’s warmth, as he had feared he would never again see sunlight or breath fresh air. “Ori, where is Ori?” he asked.

                “Sleeping; your little friend is safe, don’t worry. Legolas has done his best to mend your wounds, but we are taking you to Lord Thrandruil’s healers.”

                Fili nodded vaguely, feeling distant and groggy. Legolas must have fed him some herb that numbed his hurts.

Bard kissed him gently and pushed back his blood matted hair, “Oh how I have missed you,” he sighed, smiling in spite of himself.  Fili smiled and pulled him down close to kiss him again and hold his face close to his. “I never thought I would see you again.”

Bard nodded, knowing that fear and now regretting more than ever how he had acted that morning they awoke together, when he still dared pretend that this was tryst that would inevitably end. Now he knew how far he would go for Fili, and he was no longer afraid to show that love and devotion. He knew the would-be King felt in kind.

“I look horrible,” the blonde muttered, noting the scratches and bruises that littered his hands and arms, but Bard kissed his fingers and palms and only smiled. “You are beautiful to me.”

“You shameless flirt,” the dwarf chuckled but then coughed painfully and seemed to fade little, his head going light and woozy again. Bard tried to get him to drink from his water pouch and quietly urged him to sleep. He blinked hard, trying to shake the fog from his mind, but Bard kept him close and urged him to sleep if he could.  “There’s no time,” he argued. “You must take me back to Erebor, I have to warn Balin and the others. It’s a trap, it’s all been a trap.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Tagnox…their leader, he’s a half-breed. Not an Orc or a Goblin, but a Skin-Changer. There are more of him, and one poses as a dwarf in my uncle’s halls. You must take me home!” He tried to get up but it was no good, he simply did not have the strength.

                As Bard tried to comprehend this, the Elf approached, having overheard their conversation. “This is ill-news,” he said and Bard detected fear in his voice. “Do you not see? When I was their prisoner, I heard the word ‘the nest is empty’. I took it to mean that they had left their holes and the mountains and had come here, but I was wrong. They meant to draw you all out of Erebor, and now they have succeeded.”

                Fili grasped Bard’s hand nervously, but the bowman shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. Erebor is practically impenetrable, and their forces are thin. They will never breech the walls.”

                “Tunnels,” Fili gasped. “Tunnels! Into the roots of the mountain! No one will be watching, no one will know! They’ll be inside before an alarm can be raised and murder them all!”

                And at last the genius of Tagnox’s plan came into full light, and it horrified them how clever it was, and even more so that they might not be in time to stop it.  Bard lifted Kili then and turned to the Elf; “He’s right, we have no more time. We must warn the others in Erebor!”

                But Legolas gave pause and said softly, “Fili is too injured. Please, come with me to my father’s halls. There he will rest and we will ride out with my swiftest men to the gates and warn Balin and the others.”

                He looked worriedly to the dwarf in the man’s arms and said quietly in Elvish, hoping Bard understood; _“He will die if we do not tend to him.”_

                Bard nodded and understood and kissed his lover’s brow and found his skin cold and clammy. “Let’s not waste any daylight then. The Goblins will be slow to move while the sun is high.”

                Legolas nodded and turned to pluck Ori from his resting spot and they took off again at a run through the forest. Bard wished they still had their horses, for it seemed like very second passed more swiftly and Fili grew weaker in his arms.  But the forest seemed to give them aid, and within an hour’s time, they came to the gates of the Elven King’s halls and were ushered inside.

                Legolas explained hastily what had transpired to his men, and they hastened to do as he bade them, and Bard was led away with Fili to the halls of healing along with little Ori while Legolas himself hastened to his father’s court.

                Here he was met by Tauriel who grabbed his arm and turned him to her roughly, “Where have you been!?” she cried, her eyes wide and full of fire. She was angry with him, the kind of anger a parent has for a child who has made them worry.

                “Delayed,” he answered shortly.

                “Your father has had patrols hunting all over the forest for you! Have you nothing better to do than worry us--!”

                “I have no time for this!” He shouted at her, and she in turn slapped him, much to the shock of the rest of the standing guard, two of which were his older siblings. “You spoiled little Elfling. Have you no idea the turmoil you cause with your recklessness? Have you no care at all for those who love you and hold your safety in highest regard?”

                Legolas bowed his head. “Forgive me,” he breathed. “Believe me when I say that I never meant to cause you grief. But I must go to my father now and tell him of the coming storm. Erebor needs our help urgently.”

                “Erebor?” she repeated. “Oh Legolas, not Kili again.”

                The sound of his name stung him as surely as though he had been pricked with a blade, for he still could not speak of his former lover’s whereabouts nor his state of wellbeing and it troubled his mind and darkened his thoughts. “It is something much more dire,” he answered. “The Goblins horde which took me have abandoned their caves in mountains to the West and have hidden themselves here among us, using our land to cover their schemes whilst they try to take Eerebor from under the King’s feet!”

                Tauriel took this in for a moment and she looked more bitter still and gripped her bow in anger at this volition. “Then we must indeed go to their aid and make those less Orc filth pay for their trespass. Where is Fili?  Did you find him?”

                “He suffered much at their hands. I have sent them to the healers, with Bard and the dwarf scribe Ori. Now, I must go to my father.”

                “He is in audience with one of the wizards, he will not see you now.” She warned.

                “I have matters of great urgency, this wizard will wait.” Legolas muttered in reply, and seemed a bit confused by the idea of wizard in his father’s throne room, for there had not been such a visit since the coming of Gandalf the Grey and Radaghast the Brown.  He hoped then that it might indeed be Gandalf, for he would been a great boon to them in this dark time of need. But as he rushed toward the throne, he was met by a different sight.

                Thrandruil sat at his accustomed place and before him stood a man dressed in pristine white robes, with long straight hair the color of snow upon the mountain falling down his back and shoulders. His beard was streaked with grey and black, and he had hard chiseled face and cold, piercing eyes.

                Legolas gave pause before him and something within him trembled for the feel of the man and for a moment he could not speak at all. His father stood then worriedly, gathering his robes about him; “My son? Where have you been? What cause brings you to me with such haste and such turmoil in your eyes?” He moved lightly passed the wizard, who leaned upon his cold black staff and regarded them evenly, and held out a hand to his child, turning the young elf’s face aside to see scratches there and upon his shoulders and forearms. “You smell of blood.”

                “Ada,” Legolas again, turning his eyes from the white wizard. “I have grave news. Erebor is about to come under attack by the Goblins; they’ve masterminded some terrible scheme.”

                “This is indeed ill news,” the white wizard said, his voice low and rumbling like the sound of approaching thunder. “I am Saruman the White, and my tower of Isengard lies far at the southern edge of the Misty Mountains, fair prince of the Woodland King.”

                Legolas gave a small bow and the wizard did so in kind. “You look as though you’ve seen battle.”

                Thrandruil looked worriedly to the younger prince, “Is this true?”

                “Bard and I came upon a trap set by the Goblins in the foothills of our mountains,” he tried to explain quickly.

                “Mountains?! What were you and that archer doing there--?!”

                “ADA, THERE IS NO TIME!” Legolas bellowed. “The dwarves have been deceived! They march to war hundreds of miles away while their kingdom is undermined from below! Some black magic has aided these monsters, given them strategy and cunning they did not previously possess! They will destroy Erebor and then come for us!”

                Thrandruil put his hands upon his shoulders to calm him, “I will not let this pass. If indeed what you say is true, then we must act with haste. Saurman himself came to tell me that the Orcs and Goblins of the mountains have been seen migrating as far west as Bree Land, carrying many supplies. Yet you say they are also here, among us in the forest?”

                “Yes!”

                “Dark Magic indeed,” Thrandruil said worriedly. He turned to the wizard and his gaze was a questioning one. “It seems to me that your warning has come sadly too late, Saruman. Still there is hope that we have caught this threat in time, if only just.” He looked to Legolas again, “Have you word from Thorin Oakenshield or any of his kin?”

                “There has been no word from the King, nor from Kili and I fear for them. I have rescued Fili from the hands of the Goblin changeling Tagnox in their hiding place here in our mountains. He is gravely injured.”

                “’Changeling?’” his father queried, dark brow raised.

                “A monster, whom carries the blood of Skin-Changers within his black veins. He can change his voice and appearance, and he is not the only one. Another has already infiltrated the king’s court and posed as one of his closest compatriots.”

                “Then I will go to Erebor myself and expose this treachery,” the King answered. “Ready my men! Tauriel, you and your hunters will remain here within the wood and see that nothing moves against us. Legolas, you will ride with me.”

                “No, father.” His son said then, and Thrandruil paused in surprise. “I must go to the mountains to the East, and bring back Erebor’s forces. Ours alone will be no match for what Tagnox has massed below in their tunnels.”

                “And why must you be the one to do this, my son?”

                “Because it is my fault. They came to my aid and it may lead to their ruin. If I do not do all that I can to prevent this, then I am unworthy as their friend.”

                “It is not your place to save them.” Thrandruil tried to reason, “You must be careful, my child. You are not as you once were and are vulnerable, more than you recognize.”

                “Then what is my place?!” He found himself erupting, suddenly overcome with frustration and ire for his father’s passiveness. “I will not stay here and cower among these walls and shield myself within these woods and pretend I do not see the darkness massing the world around me! I will not be lesser son of greater kings! I will not be weak!”

                “It is a noble thing you do, Prince Legolas,” Saruman said with a nod of his snowy white head. “Go now then, and I will offer my own horse to bare there on swift legs. I wish you well on this quest.”

                Legolas bowed to him again, “I thank you,” and he turned and made haste to find Bard and Fili before leaving. Thrandruil made to follow him, nodding to the wizard before asking; “Will you return to your fortress in the South then?”

                “No. I will stay here, and see what I can do to make sure that your people remain unharmed. These Goblin scum have made a terrible trespass, attempting to use the dark arts of my people against the great forces of Erebor and Mirkwood. It must be dealt with and swiftly.”

                “I thank you for your help then,” Thrandruil nodded again and then swept past him to ready himself to ride out. Saruman watched him go at length and then settled down upon his seat below the throne and closed his eyes, his hand idly smoothing over the bright white orb that adorned the tip of his staff.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * In regards to what Thrandruil says to Legolas about not being as he once was, it is a reference to a previous fic, where Legolas' immortality was compromised due to black magic.  
> In short, Legolas is still an Elf and still has their keen abilities, but has become more mortal and more vulnerable to magic and attacks, which of course makes daddy Thrandruil way more protective of his baby boy. 
> 
> Just clearing that up, thanks again for reading!


	14. The Treachery of Lotho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heirs of Durin find surprising companions on their quest, and Lotho takes his treachery to a new level.

 

 

***

               

                Kili rode hard and long, never stopping to rest. His pony beneath him was nearly exhausted, and Kili worried he would run the poor thing to death before they even reached the mountain pass. He had however, covered quite a bit of ground. He passed the towns of Bree Land and come through the marshlands and now he found himself once again in familiar lands that lost their pastoral prettiness and became more wild and fierce as he reached the Troll Shaws.

                The sun had chased him across the sky but had bested him all the same, for it was now behind him in the West, setting over the heavy line of ever growing hills and trees. Darkness would fall within the hour and he was very much alone with only a meager arsenal left at his disposal to defend himself with. Going on tonight in the dark would be dangerous and risky, but he had little choice in the matter. Fili, wherever he was, might not live to see another sunrise.

                As he stopped at last, and let his poor animal drink and eat and lie in the grass as much as it liked, he stalked about, looking for any recent signs that Goblins had come this way. If he was very truthful with himself now, he knew that he was being stupid. He had no idea where Fili was, and the chances of him stumbling upon him alone were very slim indeed. Lord Elrond had already said that they would not find him among the old tunnels and passes of the mountains, for the Goblins had been gone from there for some time.

                Angrily Kili started heaving rocks into the little nearby stream and cursing the sky and his own impulses and foolishness. And when he had run out of rocks, he dropped down to his knees and put his head in his hands and began to weep bitterly. “I’m sorry mother. I’m sorry uncle. I let you down; I lost him. I was not a good brother as I promised to be…”

                Something stirred in the air around him and he looked up then, startled. A dwarf had appeared, and though he did not recognize him, his clothing seemed familiar as it was very much alike in color and design to his own. Kili drew a short sword from his belt, “Who goes there?”

                The other dwarf stopped and raised his hands to show he meant no harm, and a smile played on his lips beneath the thin bristly line of his black mustache. “Steady now, lad, I mean you no harm, I assure!”

                Kili blinked at him, wondering if he wasn’t seeing things, for the Dwarf simply did not seem quite real to him. “Who are you, and where do you hail from? I didn’t know there were any dwarf’s in these lands.”

                “Oh, you might be surprised,” the stranger said. “You look very much like your mother. Though you have your father’s eyes, and his chin. A little more beard will cover that right up!” he chuckled and Kili just stared, cocking his head at him in growing confusion and faint frustration. “What do you know of my mother?”

                “Too much probably, she is my sister after all.”

                Kili just gawked before finally saying; “That’s impossible.”

                And here the dwarf stopped, just a few short feet from Kili, his arms folded across his chest as he surveyed him with a familiar warmth. “Look into your heart, lad. You know it to be true.”

                “You’re…Frerin?”

                The dark haired dwarf bowed to him, “At your service.”

                Kili took a little step backward and nearly stepped into the stream. “Please, don’t be afraid. I’ve not come here to harm you.”

                “But you’re dead,” Kili said rather bluntly, the words falling out of his mouth like distasteful food.

                Frerin nodded; “Oh yes. Your brother had much the same reaction,” And here Kili’s eyes went wide and Frerin seemed to cringe at what he must have implied and quickly waved his hand; “Don’t worry! He’s very much alive! He’s somewhere safe now, though I fear he won’t be for long.”

                Kili shook his head and paced about, muttering to himself, wondering if he hadn’t gone completely mad. Frerin watched him for a time, and then reached out and caught the lad’s arm to stop him. “There? See? Not quite a ghost, am I?”

                Kili shook his head silently and hesitantly felt his fingers upon his sleeve. He did feel warm and firm, if somehow not all together there. “This is some magic…?”

                “Yes, you could say so. A very, very old magic. But Kili, there is no more time now. I came to help you as I helped your brother. You will find him in the Elven King’s halls. He’s in a bad way now, but the Elves will mend him.”

                Kili felt his heart lift and suddenly he felt no more fear, nor trepidation at this apparition that had appeared before him. He was only elated that indeed his brother was still very much alive and for the moment safe with friends. “Oh thank Mahal!”

                Frerin nodded and clasped him close for a moment and then pulled away, looking around worriedly. “Something is coming. Be ready.”

                “What?”

                “In the trees, there. Be on your guard, Kili.” And as Kili turned towards the source he felt the man leave him, but he was not afraid, for he felt his presence moving in the air all around him. He heard the shrill rustling coming from beyond the thicket then, and within moments a band of Goblins came forth, pulling a heavy cart loaded with spears and pikes and all sort of malice weaponry. They did not see Kili at first, and muttered and mumbled among themselves.

                “Tagnox makes his move then does he?” one snorted as they came trudging along.

                “Yes, yes! He’s to take the fortress by dawn tomorrow for what I heard. Oh those stupid dwarves will never know what happened until their throats are slit in their beds.”

                “Oh I should have liked to see that!”

                “I as well, I as well! But we have work here, don’t we? Got to have the tunnels built, don’t we? Someone’s got to do the dirty work, someone’s got to do the mining and the tunneling to make room for the new empire of the Goblin King don’t we?”

                “What about all them fat soft little people that are ‘ere, eh? What we supposed to do with ‘im.”

                “Kill ‘im, you dunce! What else we do with soft fat, meaty things?”

                They looked up then and saw Kili standing in front of them, his sword held at the ready. “Oh, I’m afraid there won’t be any of that tonight,” he grinned.

                The Goblins boggled at him for a second and then dropped their cart and charged him with a yell. Kili met them with easy and even with nothing but a short sword he managed to dispatch them, quick and clean. He stood over them then, feeling rather pleased with himself, until he heard more rustling and turned to see a good two dozen of their ugly compatriots charging at him.

                He cursed and ran, trying to put more ground between them and him so that they could not overwhelm him, but they were faster than he gave credit for. One of them hurled a snare at him, which had tangled at his feet and sent him tumbling face first into the dirt. If he had not been quick, he would have had his throat slit by one of the smaller, quicker beasts, but he turned and managed to skewer him with his sword before he had the chance.

                Kili fumbled to get free, crying out for help from Frerin or anyone. It was then that something else came thundering through the trees, something big enough to crack branches and displace saplings and completely uproot shrubbery. It came with a fierce roar, the likes of which Kili had only heard once before. And there he was; the great black bear, with his bright angry eyes and foaming jowls charged through the thicket, tearing apart whatever Goblin remained in his path. He overturned their cart, he clawed and crushed and maimed. The beats screamed and bleated and wailed but there was no refuge from his wrath. Within moments he had killed every one of them.

                Kili lay upon the ground, breathless and afraid that the bear might not recognize him for it turned on him then with the same savagery. “Beorn! Beorn, it’s me, Kili! Friend of Gandalf the wizard, and Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins!”

                The bear came lumbering up to him, and sniffed him heavily. He grunted and groaned and then it spoke in a man’s voice. “Yes…I remember your smell, Kili the dwarf.”

                “Well, that’s awkward.”

                “You are not where you should be,” the Skin-Changer interrupted then, “Much wickedness is being done in your lands. I traveled far over the mountain, seeking Gandalf the Grey. Have you seen him of late?”

                “I only left him and my uncle this morning. They are riding swiftly here, for my brother has been captured by the Goblins and we mean to rescue him.”

                Beorn nodded his great head, “Indeed. I will assist you anyway I can, for your brother came to my rescue and sat beside me when I was lying broken upon the field. He thought that I was dead, but it was not so.”

                “Well I am glad of that.” Kili said, finally freeing himself and standing up. “Ride out with me, little one. I know where your brother is kept.”

                Kili nodded and cautiously climbed aboard the great black beast’s back. “I’m not….hurting you am I?”

                “You could not hurt me, little dwarf. Now, hang on tightly to my shoulders. We travel swift as the moon rises, and there will be many dangers. I mean to kill them all for how they have used my own blood against me.”

                “How do you mean?”

                “I will tell you on the way. Hold on!”

                Kili cringed and gripped the bear’s pelt tightly, careful not to simply pull his fur and clenched his thighs around his back as they took off at a loping gallop through the trees. “Uncle will never believe this!”

                “No he won’t!” he almost thought he heard Frerin chuckle in his ear.

 

***

 

                It was many long, dark hours before Lotho found his way out of the caves again, and by then he had gotten used to the rushing over the wind in his ears and the veil of the shadow world that the ring wrapped around him like a cloak.

                Dark things moved here that could not be seen in the light, he felt spirits move freely about, and they saw him with their dead eyes but none troubled him much, though they made his blood feel cold. All the time, the ring whispered to him in it’s strange tongue and grew more and more emboldened.

                Rushing now through the Old Forest, he thrilled at the thought of the reward he would receive when he summoned the wizard to him and presented him with his prized trinket. He pulled the ring at last from his finger and let out an explosive breath as if he had been holding it forever. The world around him was solid and whole again and he felt as if he had been carrying a heavy weight upon himself all that time without realizing it.

He slipped the ring into his own pocket then and sat down upon a rock and muttered the words to summon the wizard, as he had before. Normally the man appeared from the wood, as if he had been there all along, just walking through the trees. But this time he did not arrive so quickly and Lotho wondered what could be keeping him.

As he waited there in the failing light, calling the words over and over again to summon his master, he began to wonder if he would come at all. He grew impatient and restless. Then, quite suddenly, the dark robed man appeared in a rush of shadow and wind and Lotho leapt to his feet at his sudden strange entrance.

“What is it?” the black robed man sneered at him below the shadow of his hood, “You had better not have brought me here with another one of your petty little troubles, or I will make things deeply unpleasant for you, Halfling.”

Lotho stuttered and started to reach for the ring. But he stopped then, having had a sudden change of heart. He did not like the way the wizard was speaking to him then, and he decided that he should not hand the thing over so quickly. After all, he was the one who had put himself in danger for it, he was the one who twice nearly been killed by dwarves and goblins. Why not keep it?

“I’m sorry, master, it’s only that…there has been some grave trouble you see. The mines, they have been destroyed.”

“What?”

“It was that dwarf King and that meddling wizard! They discovered them and I’m afraid it’s rather all gone to pieces now.”

The old man gripped his staff bitterly and Lotho could almost hear the wood cracking beneath his palms. He gulped nervously and took a little step backward, ready to run if he had to. “Thorin Oakenshield has been but a mere nuisance until now But I cannot allow him to live if he interferes with my plans.”

“I agree, sir.”

.“And what of the task I have appointed you?”

“I-I’m so sorry, master. Bilbo has gone with the dwarf and I could not reach him.”

“Then you are useless!”

“No! Wait, please! Allow me one more chance, your malevolence!” the Hobbit pleaded. “I know I can over-take them now. They are weak and have set upon the road to the mountains, but I have friends along those roads, friends that could stop them in their tracks. Allow me to try, once more! I won’t fail you this time.”

“Very well,” the wizard said at length. “I will give you this one last chance, Lotho. If you fail me again, it will mean your life.”

The little Hobbit agreed, swallowing dryly. The wizard then reached into one of the many pouches he carried along his belt and produced a small red stone. He handed it to Lotho, “Take this, it will aid you in your endeavor. All you need do is will yourself forward, and you will appear at your next destination.”

“I-I don’t understand. How will I know where to go?”

“The stone knows where to go. But do not be hasty with it, or you may find yourself very far from home indeed. Not that any should be sorry for your absence.” He turned then, gathering his robes about him. “Leave me now, for I have my own tasks to attend. And remember my words well, for it is the last time I shall speak them to you.”

Lotho nodded and waited until the man had vanished before turning the stone over in his palm. He thought it was a bit nonsense, this rock he had been given, still he couldn’t argue that he would probably never catch up with Bilbo and the others on foot. So he clutched the stone in his hand and it grew warm, and he breathed deep and wished that he were upon the road, ready at their heels. There was a sudden rushing of wind all around him and the breath forced from his lungs for a moment, and he looked up blinking and staggering.

The woods had long gone from him and he found himself standing in the town square of Bree, plain as day. He coughed and sputtered for a bit, then grinning and laughing he clicked his heels and made for the nearest pub, where he knew there were spies about that would have noticed strange company. Finally, Lotho thought, his luck was beginning to change.

 

***

 

                Elrond and Lindir rode with them now, and proved excellent ponies for them that were swift and sure. They had ridden hard and long, following Kili’s tracks. Shortly after nightfall they had come across the carnage in the Troll Shaws, and after a quick survey of the area were relieved to find no trace of Kili. They did however, note the great destruction that could have only been caused by one creature.

                “If indeed Lord Beorn has found him, then at least young master Kili will be safe hands.” Gandalf noted, feeling relieved at this.

                “He had better be,” Thorin muttered and was more worried than angry now, cursing his nephew’s reckless haste and hoping it would not be his undoing. But knowing that the Skin-Changer was with him gave him so peace of mind.

                They had come to the mountain pass through the secret passages that the Elves knew, and Bilbo did not point out that they were a good deal safer than the ones they themselves had taken on that adventure so long ago.

                The Hobbit thought longingly of little Frodo and hoped that the boy was doing well, and that someday he would understand why he had to leave. It would not be forever, this he promised himself. He would not be the second parent to leave him alone in this world.

                Thorin seemed to know his thoughts and spoke, “It is not too late to turn back, I know that Frodo needs you.”

                Bilbo blinked back at him and then shook his head resolutely. “It’s fine. He will understand, and I will return to him as soon as I can. Right now, you need me more.”

“I still think that I should take you back home, where you’ll be safe.”

                “Oh no,” Bilbo replied firmly, “You’re not going off into danger and leaving me behind again. I won’t have it! Wherever you go, I will follow. It’s my duty as your intended, isn’t it?”

                Thorin reached over and took his hand and kissed it. Behind them they heard Dwalin bluster faintly and Nori cough loudly before muttering; “I think I liked him better when he was just angry and bitter.”

                They came down a steep path leading down from the High Pass, and Bilbo recognized the slanted pines that lined the rocky path and the high dry grasses that grew there. He was hungry and tired, and his back wound stung at him faintly, but he could not help but marvel at how far they had come in such a short amount of time.

                As they came to the foot of the hill, Lindir, who had ridden ahead with Gandalf, came trotting back towards them. Elrond looked up in concern, “What is it?”

                “Some trouble ahead sir, a band of men gathering in the fields beyond. Gandalf believes they may be some of the Wildmen who roam these lands. They may give us trouble.”

                “Then they will be sorry for it,” Thorin muttered. He looked to the Elf Lord, “My kin are in danger, and I’m not about to stop and pay credence to a bunch of drunk vagabonds. We do not stop until we reach Mirkwood.”

                Lord Elrond looked troubled, his brow furrowed and his eyes cast to the distance were he could see the smoke of the campfires behind a tiny thicket of trees. “For once, I believe you speak truthfully. We haven’t time to go around. We will have to chance it.”

                “Finally! One Elf who isn’t keen to argue!” Dwalin said, spurring his own pony and taking off ahead of the group with Dori and Nori riding hastily behind. Thorin and Bilbo followed, Elrond beside them, praying he had not made a mistake.

                They caught up with the wizard then, who had paused upon the road to observe the campfire beyond. “If they are indeed dangerous,” he said as they approached “they have not yet made it known. I am not even sure they know that we are here, so let’s leave it at that. Ride on and follow the moonlight!”

                They nodded and continued on at a canter, and the grey wizard fell back beside the Hobbit. “How fair you, Master Baggins?” he asked kindly.

                Bilbo nodded his head, though his mouth curved downward grumpily. “I’m fine, I’m fine, thank you! I wish everyone would quit worrying about me and remember that I have survived a battle or two before.”

                “I haven’t forgotten,” Gandalf nodded.

                “Well, good then.” Bilbo nodded proudly and sat a little taller upon his saddle and Thorin and the wizard had a little chuckle as he passed them.

                They rode onward, keeping a watchful eye along the roadside for signs of activity, but nothing did more than rustle faintly in the dark as nighttime creatures stirred from their daylight slumber. No one from the campsite seemed to make a move towards them, though they could feel their eyes watching them as they passed.

                Bilbo thought he felt another pair of eyes on him, however, something that moved close and fast in the dark and made him uneasy, though he could not see any sign of such a thing. He moved his pony a little closer to Thorin’s then. “Something is following us.” He said softly.

                “Why say you so?” his lover asked, keeping his eyes forward so not to attract suspicion.

                “I’m not sure. I can only say that I feel it.”

                Thorin nodded and made a motion to Elrond who turned and trotted back beside them. “Something amiss, my friend?” he asked.

                Thorin nodded, “We are being watched. Best we stay close and hurry along as quickly as we—“ His words were cut off my a cry of shock as an arrow sang through the air and found it’s home in Elrond’s shoulder.

                His horse bucked in fear and nearly threw him and the ponies scattered in fear and their riders tried haplessly to control them as more arrows sang through the night air.

                “Take cover!” Thorin bellowed to his companions as they attempted to escape and counter the attack. They quickly realized their assailants came from the trees, where more of the Wildmen had been hiding in the dark. They came now from their hiding places among the pines, racing through the high grasses with swords gleaming in the moonlight emitting terrible battle cries.

                They were bandits, thieves and murders, only a dozen in all, not counting the ones who still held their position around their camp fire. Still they were fierce and blood thirsty, for they had been told of the coming of these strangers and had been promised that they carried great wealth with them.

                Elrond tried to pull the arrow shaft from his shoulder but was dislodged from his horse and fell upon the ground. Both Lindir and Gandalf tried to reach him, but both were prevented by their own attackers, who surrounded them and tried to drag them from their horses.

                It was instead Thorin who came to the Elf Lord’s aid and leapt from his pony, sword gleaming and drove off the men who would have fallen upon him. Elrond seemed in great surprise of this, for Thorin’s distain of Elves even now was well known. Yet here he was, risking his life to protect his. A rider tried to come to close and catch Thorin off guard, and Bilbo rode against him and swung Sting, slicing deep into the raider’s arm and knocking him from his mount.

                “No one touches my dwarf!” the Hobbit spat at the man and reared his horse in attempt to trample the thief, or at very least scare him off. Thorin beamed at him before bending to help Elrond, “Your Hobbit is full of fire indeed!” the Elf gasped.

                “Yes he is.” Thorin said, almost bristling with pride. He bellowed for Gandalf and the grey wizard at last broke free and came upon them, pulling the injured Elf upon his steed. “Take him to safety, we will handle things here!”

                “By your leave my King,” Gandalf nodded and rode off as the other dwarves rallied around their enemies, Bilbo and Lindir remaining upon their mounts in attempt to drive off any more enemies that might try to attack from the trees.

                The Wildling’s had not suspected a fight such as the one they got, but they were not ones to give up so easily either. This was fortunate for Lotho, who had been watching it all from the shadows. He had been watching, waiting for just the right time.

                Now he moved from his hiding spot behind one of the great boulders, calling for one of the Wildlings that Thorin was chasing to follow him. The man of course ran towards his voice, recognizing him from their earlier meetings. He was not sure yet if the thief thought he would lead him to safety, or if he just wanted to repay him for the bad advice, but either way he followed Lotho down the sloping plains, just out of sight of the road.

                Thorin ran blindly, not realizing how far he had chased the bandit. As he cleared the hill he heard a cry and stopped and looked about, his sword at the ready. Moving a little further, he saw that the thief had fallen and now lay prostrate upon the ground, bludgeoned by something. Thorin nudged him with his boot to see if he was still breathing and the man groaned.

                The King sighed heavily and turned to return to his men, hearing the sound of battle dying away and the cheers of his men. It was in that one unguarded moment that he felt a rush of air move past him, followed at once by the cold sting of a blade thrust into his side.

                Thorin gurgled and grunted, unable to cry out. He twisted and tried to pull away from the thing that pained him and fell, pulling a dagger from his back that had been sunk in to the hilt. He looked around in confusion, not understanding. And then, from thin air appeared Lotho, with a bloodied hand and a sinister smile. “How does it feel, ‘King Under the Mountain’, to be laid low by a Halfling?”

                Thorin shuddered and tried for words but the pain had rendered him unable to, still he glared murderously up at the vile traitor. “How heartbroken cousin Bilbo will be to find you dead, after waiting for you all this time. Such a shame. But he won’t have to suffer long.” He knelt down beside Thorin and held the ring out for him to behold. “You see, I’ve found his little trinket he brought back from the mountain. Marvelous little thing, don’t suppose he told you about it, did he? Well, he should have taken better care of it. It’s mine now.”

                This meant nothing to Thorin and he made a desperate swipe for him, but Lotho was too quick to back away. “Ah ah ah! Not this time. Now why don’t you get on with dying and I’ll be getting on with my own business. I hope the wolves don’t find you before they do though!” he laughed in the dwarf’s face, slipped on the ring and vanished just as surely as he appeared, leaving Thorin groping in the darkness.

 

***


	15. Made of Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Kili are finally reunited. Fili makes his plans to move against the Goblin forces with the help of the Men of Laketown and the Elves of Mirkwood.

 

***

 

                Beorn bore them swiftly, traveling north in great strides along the plains of the Wilderland with the edge of Mirkwood dark and looming at their side. Kili heard the rustling of its collective leaves in the wind and thought they whispered to each other of their passing. Perhaps they were relaying that message to the Elves.

                The night wind rippled through his hair and chapped and reddened his face, but he remained unblinking ahead, praying that they could reach the woodland fortress of Thrandruil before it was too late. “Why do we not take the Forest Path?” he asked the bear finally as they treaded further and further along the northern border of the wood.

                “We will take the Elf path. It is a secret way, which less treachery about it. Unless you want to go the long way around.”

                Kili shook his head and gripped Beorn’s fur a bit tighter.

                Something glittering to his right caught the young dwarf’s attention then and he turned. Between the trees, breaking their thick black barrier, he saw lines of shimmering silver, emerald and glittering rust and heard a faint song rising from within the trees.

                Beorn himself came to a halt then as well and they stood there together in the darkness and watched. The Woodland Warriors of Mirkwood stirred and began filtering through the trees like sand, and the wood around them, dark and oppressive without their presence, seem to stir and lighten and bend. Kili looked on in awe, never realizing until then just how in tune they were with their own environment and how one thrived off the other. Dozens of hunters, archers, and foot soldiers began to filter through the tree line out into the open fields and Kili watched as the moonlight gleamed off their armor and made them look as though they were the great woodland spirits of old, when gods and spirits wandered the land, bringing life to the world.

                One particular figure caught his attention then upon a white horse, flanked by three or four other Elves also mounted. He recognized him by his stance and by the pale gold shade of his hair and the brightness of his eyes.

                Legolas saw Kili then too, seated upon the back of the great bear. Neither moved for a time, but Tauriel, who rode beside him seemed startled at the sight and gave a small gasp of surprise.

                The Prince waved to his people to halt their approach and swung down from his horse and started forward on foot as Kili did the same. Beorn made a low growl in his throat, but the Dwarf gave him an assuring scratch behind his ears and told him not to be afraid.

                Kili tried to remain stoic and calm as his former lover approached but he could barely keep still and his fingers continued to twitch and flex nervously. Legolas came to stand but a few feet from them and he surveyed both of them with calm curiosity, but Kili read something very different in his bright blue eyes.

                “I am glad to see you have no perished, Lord Beorn,” he spoke then, clapping a hand to his breast and bowing his head. “It brought me much sorrow that my weakness brought about such tragedy.”

                “Well it is not so, as you see. And for my part, little princeling, I am glad you also survive.” The bear spoke in kind with a bow of his own great head.

                Beside him, Kili drifted a bit closer towards the Elf, gazing up at him with a mixture of worry and lingering resentment. “We’ve ridden far,” he explained, trying to sound calm, “My uncle and the rest of our party are not far behind me. Where is my brother? What’s happened to him?”

                “Fili is being cared for in our house of healing,” Legolas said evenly. “My people and I ride to stop your armies from descending upon the Misty Mountains, where they believe the Goblins have taken him. But it is not so, it’s a trap.”

                “Yes, I know.” KIli nodded. He cast his eyes upon the ground and swallowed his disappointment and anger, only to see then that Legolas dropped completely to his knees before him and clutched his hand with his head bowed.

                “Forgive me, Kili. Forsaking you was wrong and I have regretted it every day since. There has not been an hour I have not thought of your face or longed for the sound of your voice or the touch of your hand. I know now I cannot forsake my feelings, not even for the wishes of my father. My life is my own, and I have made my choice. I choose you.”

                He closed his eyes and awaited an answer, but none came readily. Instead he felt Kili remove his hand from his. He felt the sour taste of sadness and regret in his mouth, until he felt the Dwarf’s hand upon his cheek and then his chin, lifting his face before leaning in and kissing him fiercely. Legolas wrapped himself around him and Kili melted into him, nearly toppling them both over upon the ground.

                They broke apart with some effort and Kili pressed his forehead against Legolas’ and felt his warmth envelope him. “But, your light…?”

                “It is mine to share with you.” The Elf replied and as he held Kili the dwarf did indeed seem to absorb some of it, for he looked renewed and relieved and Legolas could see the beauty of his soul shining within him. He thought his heart would burst for gladness he felt, and also for the terrible knowledge that someday that lovely light would leave this world.

                Kili gripped him tightly and wished he had more time to speak what was in his heart, but he was all too aware of his surroundings and of the watchful eyes of the Elves and Beorn and even of the moon above. “There’s no more time now, we’ve got to stop this madness before everything burns.”

                Legolas nodded and got hastily to his feet. He turned to Tauriel and beckoned her forth, “Lead the men to the wilds. The dwarves cannot be more than a fifty miles south of the river. I will go with Kili and bring him to his brother, and we will meet you at the gates of Erebor with my father and the others.”

                “Very well,” she nodded. She smiled and Kili and he bowed sweetly before her in kind before reaching into his coat and pulling out a little blue piece of fabric with a crest emblazoned upon it. “If any of them question you, present them with this and they will give you no trouble. And please, keep a weather eye out for my uncle and Mr. Baggins. They should not be long in coming down the hill and they will be worried.”

                “As you wish,” Tauriel nodded and then she turned and beckoned their troops forward. Kili turned back to Beorn. “Well, what now old friend? Shall we continue?”

                “Make haste little dwarf! For I should very much like to set my teeth into Goblin flesh by sunrise, if not sooner!”

                Kili clambered upon his back again and held out a hand for Legolas to do the same, but the Elf hesitated. “Do I have your permission to do this, Lord Beorn?”

                Kili rolled his eyes; “We don’t have time for pleasantries, get on!” He grabbed the Elf’s hand and pulled him upward and Legolas went, seating himself behind him as he called for his horse to follow him. The stead understood and obeyed as they went rushing into the darkness of the trees, the rest of the hunters parting ways to make room for them, watching them pass in silent reverence.

                “You never cease to surprise me,” Legolas whispered into Kili’s ear. The dwarf tightened the Elf’s hand around his waist and replied slyly, “When this is all over, I shall give you a few more surprises.”

 

***

 

                Bard kept close watch on Fili, though he could do little but stand aside and let the healers do their work. They chanted in their ancient language and rubbed salve and herbs into his wounds, washed him with clear water from their fountains and bound his hurts, and in all that time Fili hardly moved nor made any sound except for the occasional hiss or whimper.

                The bowman hated this helpless feeling as he stood aside, only being able to watch from a distance while his lover struggled for life. He thought again and again of his wife and her beautiful smile and how she had withered while he could do nothing but watch. He was tired of being a victim of fate, tired of waiting while it decided what turn his life would take and whom it would take from him.

                But he had slain the dragon Smaug, and from that terrible night onward, Bard had vowed he would no longer be man who was held hostage by fate. He moved forward anxiously and one of the elves turned him. “How is he?”

                She smiled at him, “Strong. He will mend, and soon from the look of it. You need not weary yourself with fear for him, Bard of Laketown. He will smile upon your face again.”

                He nodded gratefully and she ushered him forward, allowing him at last to sit at Fili’s beside. The dwarf looked small among the bedding, and though he was pale and bandaged, the pall of death had gone from him. His skin seemed warm and bright once more. The bowman took his hand and kissed his finger tips, and the healers nodded to him as they finished their work and left them in privacy.

                Bard was glad for this, for it was only once they had left him that he allowed himself to let go and felt the burning sting of salt water at the corner of his lids. “I will never be able to repay you, you know,” he mumbled then, looking upon the sleeping dwarf. “You were kind to me from the very moment I met you. When all the others were suspicious or callous, you alone treated me as a peer. I spoke to you of my children and our hardships and you understood, without pity and without judgment. I was able to offer you and your companions so little, yet you were grateful. I came against your family, I cried out against what I thought was your uncle’s pride and greed. And you did not hate me for it. You knew my fear as if it was your own. You protected my children when I could not. I lead my people against yours…you forgave me.”

He pressed his face to Fili’s hand, “I wonder if you loved me from that first moment on the lake shore. If you did, I didn’t deserve it then and certainly don’t deserve it now. I am a foolish man, my love. I am bitter and suspicious and envious. You found the good in me, you gave me back my courage when I had none. If we leave this place, somehow I will make it up to you. I will spend every day of my life trying to repay you for the hope you’ve given me. Whether I am king or a pauper, I would give all that I have.”

Fili’s fingers closed around his and scratched lightly at the stubble upon his cheek. Bard blinked at him and the blonde was smiling at him; “That was some speech. Perhaps you should have been a poet.”

Bard smiled; “I meant every word,” and then his smile turned into a bit of a smirk; “Have you been listening this whole time? I should cuff you for making me worry, king or no king.”

“Thorin is King, I am only a pale replacement.” Fili grunted and attempted to sit up, testing his muscles which were sore but regaining their former strength.

“You will always be my king,” Bard answerd and kissed him lovingly. Fili was quite content with that for a moment and as they broke apart he tried to reconcile his memory and recalled the urgency of their situation. “Where are my clothes? We need to leave here and warn Balin and the others.”

“The Elves are doing as much now, they left some hours ago.”

Fili seemed relieved and concerned at the same time; “Has there been word of my brother or of Thorin? I’m afraid for them, Bard. I really am.”

The bowman rested his head against his; “I know. We’ll find them and bring them home, I promise you.” But even this assurance did not put Fili at ease and he inched his way out of bed all the same, bearing his teeth at the pain in his torso and legs, for they had born many injuries and they all sang at once. He stood and nearly fell and Bard caught his arm and tried to lift him again but the Dwarf waved him off. “No, I must do this myself. However it pains me,” he grunted.

“You're made of iron, aren’t you?” Bard chuckled. “Whatever they do to you, you remain unbowed, unbroken. You will never cease to amaze me.”

“Iron is only useful when forged,” Fili grunted. “forged in flame no less.” He staggered a few feet until he had gotten his balance and then glanced down and realized he was naked. “So, were you going to let me get all the way to Erebor before you said anything?”

“Maybe,” Bard smiled. He cocked his head a little, “It would make the journey more interesting.”

Fili attempted a smile, but he was in no mood for playing. “Find me something to wear, anything, and then we must go.” Bard looked about and found a tunic that must have belonged to the dwarf, for it was far too short for an elf, and noted that it had been cleaned and mended. He helped the prince slip it over his head and shoulders, and Fili nearly fell again but he forced himself to stay on his feet and steadied his breath.

“You’re pushing yourself too quickly,” Bard warned him.

“It doesn’t matter,” the blonde muttered, “they need me. I won’t let them down again.” He started forward, casting about for his boots or any of his weapons and when he stumbled this time Bard caught him and lifted him. “I see you are not immune to the stubbornness of your people. But you will be no good to anyone collapsed upon the field. Let me help you, at least until we reach the mountain.”

Fili consented with a nod, and Bard moved to take him back through the halls when he heard a rising clamor from outside. There were shouts of surprise and the rattling of guards reaching for their swords and bows, and Bard made to look out upon the uproar to see what was happening.

Fili braced himself beside him, and when they peered beyond the portal into the great wide corridors, they saw to their shock the great body of a black bear standing there, growling and roaring at the guards whilst both Kili and Legolas made an effort to calm both sides.

“This cannot be!” Fili gasped and was moving forward before Bard was able to pull him back. He rushed out into the corridor and stood before the crowd, his eyes flitting fast from his brother, to the bear, to Legolas.

“Fee!” Kili left Beorn’s side and bolted towards his elder sibling, throwing his arms around him and clutching him tight against him. Fili did the same, laughing and crying in spite of himself and laid his head alongside his brothers. “He brought you back to me,” he breathed.

Kili blinked and they glanced at each other, and understood somehow that they were talking about the same person. “Some king you are!” Kili laughed then, clasping his hands to either side of Fili’s face, brushing the wetness of his tears away with his thumbs. “I leave you alone for three weeks and the whole kingdom goes to pot! What would you do without me, eh?”

“I never wish to know, little brother,” Fili said warmly. “Where’s Thorin?” he asked, casting about then. “And Bofur and the others?”

“Coming behind,” Kili explained, “I rode out ahead. They have Gandalf, and Bilbo and Lord Elrond with them. We weren’t going to let you face this thing alone, after all.”

Fili nodded, though his head was spinning slightly and he turned his attentions to Beorn, approaching him with caution and amazement. “I thought you had fallen, my old friend. How is it you have returned to us?”

The bear approached him on all fours, dropping his defensive stance against the elves and pressed his muzzle against Fili’s chest. “You came to my rescue, little prince. You wept for me and I heard you, though I could not reply. I do not forget kindness or valor, and you have much of both. I will make the goblin scum pay for the pain they have visited upon you and your kin.”

“Thank you for returning my brother to me,” Fili nodded, looking to Kili who shrugged, for once acting very much like his old self. He turned then and grew serious once more; “We have to ride with all haste to Erebor. It’s urgent that we do not reveal our purpose too swiftly once there; Balin and the others have been tricked into waging war by one of Tagnox’s shape-changing kin, who has posed as Ori.”

“An insult I mean to pay him back for!” said the little dwarf suddenly from behind them, for he had been sleeping this whole time and had been forgotten about. Fili turned to embrace him, as did Kili and Bard and Legolas nodded in kind. “Tenfold we shall repay him and all his foul minions!” Fili promised him.

“They can shape-change?” Kili blinked.

“Mutant half breeds,” Beorn growled, “stealing the blood of my kin and turning it foul. I’ll rid the world of them.”

“Kili, I think it best you go ahead to the gates with Legolas. They won’t be expecting you and they won’t be suspicious. Say nothing of me or what you know of their plan. Make sure the others are who they say they are before you reveal anything and get everyone out of the lower halls; they’ll attack their first.”

“Consider it done, and if anyone tires anything, I’ll give an arrow in the eye for the their trouble.” Kili nodded.

Fili turned to Bard then, “I must ask you to help us again, my love, though you’ve already saved my life once today.”

Bard nodded dutifully; “Name it, and it is done.”

“I will need as many willing men as you can gather to help fight off the goblins once we have forced them back into the tunnels. Can you do this?”

“Without hesitation.” Bard answered.

“My people will be there to greet them as well,” Legolas interjected. “They have invaded our forest and used it against us. For that I will have their blood. We will cut off their escape through our mountains.”

“And I will be with you,” Fili nodded. “I want to take Tagnox myself.”

 

***


	16. A Saving Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin finds himself adrift between two realms, on the verge of death, and with Frerin's help, must stop an ambush before his approaching army is slaughtered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologizes for the short chapters and hasty uploads with typos, I have been pressed for time these days but didn't want to let this story fall by the wayside. 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read and forgive my errors! :)

 

***

 

 

Thorin passed into blackness for a time and when he opened his eyes again it was still dark and the moon still shone above him in the sky. The world was still but for the faint sound of the wind rustling through the trees and rippling over the grass and he felt cold and stiff. He felt his back and his side, searching for traces of the wound, but felt nothing. Confused, he managed to roll to his feet and found he felt no pain, only a vague soreness and wondered if the whole thing had been some delusion and if he had fallen and struck his head somehow.

And while his bewilderment did not lessen and greater sense of urgency as he cast about for signs of his companions, calling for Bilbo and Dwalin and the others. But as he came back out upon the road, there was no one there and even the camp fire in the distance had been extinguished. Thorin struggled to make sense of things, wondering what had happened while he had been lying senseless upon the ground.

He remembered Lotho and his magic trick, his taunting him about Bilbo’s ring and how he was leaving him to die and a cold dread seized his spine and made him break into a run, calling out for anyone. Nothing answered him but the wind, however. Thorin ran for a time, casting about for tracks or signs of struggle. Perhaps they had all been taken captive and were being held nearby, in which case he felt fortunate.

Then he saw the faint flickering of a fire about a mile or two away from the road, leading down into the dry sloping plains of the Wildlands. Still gripping his sword, the dwarf approached with caution, glad that the rustling wind seem to cover the sound of his footprints. He crept and crouched behind boulders and stunted dying trunks of neglected pines until he came upon the encampment and saw not his companions, but a large band of goblin scouts, heavily armed for battle, with many Wargs groggily snarling at their feet, sated by some recent meal.

“How much longer is it gonna take for those dwarf scum to get here?” one muttered, sharpening his curved sword upon a stone as he looked to his mutant brethren, who regarded him with narrowed eyes and quickly rising tempers. “Are they gonna go all the way around the forest before they get here or what? Some army, I tell you. I should like very much to watch ‘im squeal when I bleed ‘im.”

“They’ll kill you first, with their axes and their swords. You’re too slow and fat for ‘im.”

“Won’t matter! They won’t be expecting to run into our little traps, and by the time they figure the whole thing back, we’ll have the run of their little mountain and their king’s head on a pike!”

They laughed raucously and Thorin seethed silently behind his hiding place and gripped Orcrist’s hilt tighter in his palm, readying to sink it into their stoney flesh as soon as he had a chance. “What about that trouble up the road apiece?” another asked then. “I heard horses and shouting.”

“Those Wildmen, that’s all,” another muttered. “Let them squabble, they won’t trouble us none. And if they get to close, we’ll make ‘im wish they’d staid in their hovels.”

Thorin made to move when he heard a rustling sound from behind him and he turned, ready to defend himself. It was no Orc that approached him, however. It was another, much like himself. In the moonlight Thorin thought his eyes were deceived and he shook his head, wondering again what had happened to him that could addle his senses so. He waved the dwarf off, but the other barely moved and Thorin instead went to him and dragged him down in the dirt behind a shelter of rocks. “Are you mad, man? Get back and warn the others that—“

“Well it is good to see you too, brother.”

Here Thorin stopped and looked fully upon the face of the man beneath him, and the breath left his body utterly and he felt as if his heart had turned to stone and ceased to course life through him. Nothing stirred but the wind around them, and Frerin stared up into his brother’s face with a gentle smile and pitying eyes. “Oh those eyes of yours, they do tell a story, don’t they? I’m so sorry.”

Thorin backed away from Frerin as if he had burned him and flattened himself against the rock, staring at him wide eyed and terrorized. His brother lifted himself from the ground and eyed him in return for a moment, raising a hand to signal he meant no harm. “Don’t be afraid of me, please, please! I haven’t come here to do you harm. But you are very much in danger and you must listen.”

“What shadow are you that comes to haunt me?” Thorin muttered. “My brother has long passed from this world.”

Frerin put his hands to his face and Thorin tried to wrench away but could not break free from his gaze. “I am gone from this realm, yes. My body is dust, but my spirit returns to you now from the halls of our fathers. Thorin, there is little time. You’ve been terribly injured and if you are not found you will surely die.”

Thorin tried to push him away but Frerin would not release his hold. “This is madness! It’s some trick of my enemies, I am not harmed, but surely I am cursed!”

“Look in my eyes you know I speak the truth!” his brother cried then and Thorin had to look at him and see the terrible reality of his words in his expression. Even now he felt the energy draining from him and as he touched his side, felt his fingers dampen with warm blood. “What is happening to me?”

“You are walking on the edge of the veil,” Frerin explained softly. “You’ve left your body, but you haven’t departed from this realm yet. If I allow you to linger much longer you’ll be trapped in the ether between, your body perished and your spirit unable to move on. Let me save you, brother, as you once tried to save me.”

He pulled Thorin to his feet and they stood together there in the dark, solid and real to each other but invisible to the rest of the world about them. Thorin regarded his brother with wide wondering eyes for a time and tried to find words to speak but his voice failed him. “Is this your fate?” he whispered finally. “To walk in the shadow of this world, unable to cross between?”

Frerin shook his head, “No, I am not adrift in the world. I wait for the others on the shore beyond this world and welcome them. But it is not your time to pass, and I will not stand by and allow our line to fall here into darkness. What power is given me to cross the breech I don’t know, but I won’t question the gift it has given me. Now, we’ve no more time for words. We must find your body and help.”

“Frerin,” Thorin said then and the younger dwarf gave pause. “Please forgive me. I couldn’t save you that day. I would have trade my life for yours in an instant,” But Frerin gripped his hand and put his forehead against his gently. “I know you would have. But there is nothing to forgive, Thorin. You fought bravely, you saved our people. Were it not for you, I shudder to think of the fate we would have suffered. I’m so proud of you. We all are.”

He made to move away from the encampment then but Thorin hesitated. Frerin turned back to him urgently. “Brother we mustn’t linger. You’re fading, please!”

“I cannot go and let them walk into a trap. My friends are still out here on the road somewhere, and they will be no match against these forces. I have to do something.”

“They cannot see you, nor hear you, nor touch you! You are as the wind to them, there is nothing we can do!”

But Thorin lingered still, casting about for an answer, some way to prevent the tragedy he saw in his mind. It was then that something else approached the horde from just beyond the field, a small and familiar figure. Lotho appeared before the crowd, dragging something large behind him.

The goblins took notice of him and their vile pets stirred from their coiled positions and snarled at him with long yellow fangs and foul breath. The little Hobbit trembled a bit before them, but he did not flinch away and attempted to draw himself up to his full height, puffing out his chest. “I demand parlay with your leader!” he said to them. “I am Lotho Sackville-Baggins of the Shire, friend of the dark wizard you have promised allegiance to! I have come to parlay in his stead.”

The Goblins laughed at him, for they clearly thought he was pulling their leg. They moved towards him, hungry and wicked looking, clawed hands playing along their knives and spears. “Not another step! Or you will lose a prize very dear to your leader indeed!” he called. He turned and gave what he had been dragging behind him another hard yank. A body appeared and sagged, boneless and limp across the dry grass before them. Thorin recognized himself, senseless and bleeding upon the ground.

He felt a pang of weakness then and swayed on his feet but his brother steadied him. “What devilry is this? I am dead yet I feel pain?”

“You’re not dead. You’re dying. There’s a distinct difference.”

“You always had a mind for details.” The elder Durin muttered, taking comfort in his presence before turning his attention back to matters before him. The Goblins were now looking on in great interest at the dwarf before them, and they had to struggle to contain their beasts, who were roused by the smell of fresh blood.

“Bring Tagnox here. Tell him that I have brought him the King Under the Mountain, but I won’t surrender him yet.”

“You’re a stupid little fat thing aren’t you?” growled one of the fiends, leering at him with one eye while the other empty, maggoty socket gaped at him. “What’s to stop us from just taking him now and you with ‘im?”

Here Lotho plucked something from his pocket and toyed with it in his hand. “Just you try, you might find it more difficult than you first guess.” And as he said this one of the sentries made to grasp him, but in that moment both he and Thorin utterly vanished before them.

The Goblins were startled and the bleated and stamped their feet, snarling and yelping at each other in wonder and fear at this strange trick. They groped about for the signs of them, but they could not see them at all.

However, Thorin and Frerin saw the little Halfling quite clearly still, although he did seem altered, as though he were dimmed somehow. Thorin felt the pull of his own consciousness and he faded and nearly dropped to his knees and Frerin held him fast as he stared at Lotho, coming to some awful realization of his own.

And while the villains surrounding them groped and gaped, unseeing and bewildered, Lotho realized with a sudden chill that there were at least two beings whom saw him plain as day. He saw the two dwarves watching him from the top of the hill, and he was stunned that they did not seem like the others, but rather beings of light and ether, not tethered to the world as the others.

One he thought he recognized and that made him feel even colder. Suddenly then they were up and rushing him, bellowing and screaming. Lotho screamed himself, and the goblins must have heard him for they looked around in confusion and terror, pointing their blades at the darkness around them.

The Halfling stumbled over his own feet and fell, too panicked to think of his obvious course of escape. Thorin fell upon him and shook him like a rag doll, “You pestilent little bastard, I will end you!” he roared and Lotho blubbered and pleaded, kicking and trying to escape. His shirt tore away from Thorin’s fists and as the dwarf made to grab at him again he felt another pang of pain and dropped like a stone, rasping for breath.

Frerin was beside him, “There isn’t time! Thorin you have this one chance, you have to return to your body or you’ll be trapped here!”

The King groped for something to secure himself, but he had no idea how to return to his flesh. He was instead distracted by some new presence that made itself known; a dark figure suddenly standing among them, wreathed in flame and bellowing at them in some terrible tongue that made his head feel as if it were going to split wide.

The on-coming army had found them. The Dwarves of Erebor had made way across the wilderness and had been drawn in by the sounds of battle. Here too had come the Elves, riding swiftly as the wind from the North, for they had already come to blows with the Goblins who lay in wait for the army at large and had slain many already. They had risen the alarm, and there was nowhere else for the minions of Tagnox to hide. They were brutal and cruel, and though their weapons were terrible and their thirst for blood even more so, they were far from a match in numbers. The three clans clashed upon the plains like the ocean crashes upon the sand, and the villains found themselves best two to one, and not even their Warg Riders were a match for the iron of the Dwarves or the arrows of the Elves.

Lotho was screeching and weeping, trying and fumbling again and again to remove the ring from his finger. Frerin had fallen upon him, gripping his shoulders and yelling at him, but Thorin could no longer hear his words. He fixated on the ring and realized it was the source of this wickedness. He reached out and grabbed for the thing, managing to catch Lotho’s hand. The dark figure was getting closer, his voice was like the mountain coming down on them and Thorin thought that the world was ending, and Frerin’s hands were on his shoulders, wrenching at him urgently.

But only one voice reached him, it was small but fierce. “THORIN!”

“Bilbo?”

The world shuddered and was gone suddenly with a great rushing of wind. Gone was the black spector, gone was Lotho and the wicked shadow of the Goblins. Even his brother seemed scattered to the winds. There was darkness and the clashing of iron and steel, the screams of both Goblin and Dwarf alike and the roar and yelp of Wargs.

Thorin swam up from a sea of darkness and shadow into a world at war, and a familiar embrace. Bilbo was bent over him, holding him with one arm while his little sword blazed brightly blue in the darkness, casting an ethereal light over the two of them as he defended them. The Hobbit seemed deeply relieved when Thorin’s eyes opened and met his but it did little to ease his fear, for the dwarf was drenched with blood and heavy in his arms and far too pale. “Hold on to me, I’m getting you out of here!” Bilbo promised him.

Thorin’s lips moved but no sound escaped them. His eyes held Bilbo’s as long as they could, but his lids grew too heavy and his strength failed and he became silent and limp in the Hobbit’s hands again. Bilbo cried his name and shook him, but Thorin would not wake. “Thorin! Thorin, don’t leave me again! You promised me, damn you! Just hang on, please _, please_!”

His friends were drawing the battle away from them and somewhere in the distance he thought he heard Bofur calling for him again. He made to call out, when he heard a rasping voice close to him and turned to see Lotho scrambling about in the dirt, frantic and crazed. “Where is it? Where has it gone!?”

Bilbo stared at him for a moment in shock, and then a slow boiling rage rose up within him. He laid Thorin back upon the ground and was up, rushing at Lotho, swinging his sword. “YOU MURDERING LITTLE THEIF!” He found himself screaming, taking a wide swipe at his cousin, who startled and rolled away, Bilbo only managing to shave a few hairs from his head.

He rolled in the dirt and blinked up at Bilbo in shock, but the other Hobbit fell upon him, luckily discarding his sword and began to beat him mercilessly as Lotho attempted to shield himself from the blows. “You’ve killed him! YOU’VE KILLED HIM!”

Lotho got his foot into Bilbo’s stomach and kicked him away, leaving him lying winded on the ground for a moment or two as his cousin scrambled for his own knife, “No, No it wasn’t me! I swear it! I-I was trying to save him, Bilbo! Yes, yes! He wandered from the path and I saw those terrible bandits come up behind him and I--”

“You’re a liar!” Bilbo snarled back at him, untouched by his words. “You’ve always been a liar. You stole my ring; you used it to sneak up on us, didn’t you?! You’ve been working for them the whole time!”

Lotho hardened and sneered; “Alright then. So I have. I was spying on you from the beginning; stealing your precious little letters from your consort King in the mountains and giving them to my friends. Friends who would very much like to see Dwarves forced back into the wilderness where they came, powerful friends who have bigger plans for this world than you could ever imagine! And so what if I did kill your so-called King? He got better than he deserved! I should have let the Warg’s take ‘im!”

Bilbo screamed and leapt at him again, tearing at him blindly though Lotho slashed at his hands and arms. But Bilbo got his hands around his neck and forced him to the ground, sitting on his chest as he choked the life out of him.

“Bilbo! BILBO!” Strong hands pulled him from Lotho’s body and the man beneath him coughed and wheezed, holding his injured throat as he rasped for breath. Bilbo struggled against the arms that held him, a red haze still in his mind, until he heard Bofur’s voice in his ear; “No, my friend! This is not you!”

And the rage drained from him and he went limp, and the other dwarf held him close and shushed him as others began to hurry forward. Dwalin as was the front, and when he saw Thorin upon the ground he dropped his axe and knelt beside his King and his face was one of the deepest dread and torment. “He-he needs help…” the Hobbit stuttered.

“We’ll get it to him, not to worry.” Bofur assured and helped Bilbo to his feet. Dwalin gathered Thorin’s battered body up in his arms and turned towards the gathering crowd of their kin. “We need a healer! Quickly now!”

At the edge of the crowd the Elves stirred and Tauriel moved forward, crying out for them to let her pass. Many of them blocked her passage but Dwalin bellowed for them to move and they obeyed, making room so that they could lie him out and examine the extent of his injuries. Bofur staid beside Bilbo as he seemed to be the only thing keeping the little Hobbit on his feet. “Where’s Gandalf?” he asked hoarsely as he watched the Elf maiden pry open Thorin’s clothing to find the source of the bleeding. She discarded the bloody things and left them in a heap, and turning him on his side she saw a deep wound in his back between his lowest ribs. Dwalin made a grim face and would look at no one, but his hand gripped Thorin’s limp one protectively.

Bilbo wasn’t sure he was still breathing, or even if what he was seeing was real. It felt like a nightmare, one he had lived before. “I’m not sure where Gandalf’s gone. He had to take Lord Elrond to safety,” Bofur answered him quietly. “But it doesn’t matter now, the Elves are here. Lady Tauriel will mend him, just as she once mended Kili. Remember, Bilbo?”

The Hobbit nodded faintly, but he didn’t really remember. He could barely recall anything at the moment but the shade of Thorin’s eyes, or the texture of his hair or the warmth of his skin, or that last sunny day they spent together in the fields of the Shire.

At last Tauriel looked up at him and her eyes were soft and there was a comforting smile upon her lips, even as blood painted her hands. She spoke to him, but her lips did not move, and words were just for him. _“Do not despair, child of the kindly west. He shall not pass from your sight this day.”_

Bilbo exhaled a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and tears fell down his cheeks as he smiled and nodded quietly.


End file.
